Chuck vs the Beautiful Letdown
by Notorious JMG
Summary: An unexpected tragedy rends Team Chuck asunder. AU divergent timeline prior to "Chuck vs. the Bright Side of Life"; character crossover with "Veronica Mars".
1. The Beautiful Letdown

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

_**Author's Note:**__ okay, so how to explain the setting… this is sort of an AU of an AU, or if you prefer, the "Bizarro Bright Side-verse". In this setting, all the events of Season 1 exist, as do the events of the story _The Seduction of Sarah Walker_. However, this story diverges from that timeline before the events of _Chuck vs. the Bright Side of Life_. The story picks up immediately after the end of episode 1x13, "Chuck vs. the Marlin"._

**Chapter 1: The Beautiful Letdown**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Guy on Vincent Thomas Bridge – Greg Grunberg  
Lester Patel – Vik Sahay  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez

* * *

**7:15 A.M., Pacific Standard Time**

**Wednesday, January 30th, 2008**

**Echo Park, Los Angeles, California**

Sarah stood looking in through the window, not having a clue what to do. John Casey's footsteps receded across the courtyard as words from two very different men burned through her mind.

First was Chuck's insistence that she was part of his family. That touched her deeply, affecting her in a way that she should not allow herself to be affected. And really, if she allowed herself to be affected in that way, what hurt would she be exposing herself to? What would happen if Chuck ever found out about the many, many people she had killed and the thousands more whose deaths she was responsible for?

But then there was what Casey had said – about not being able to keep him there for much longer. Those words were even worse. They twisted in her gut like a knife sunk in to the hilt. She couldn't imagine the thought of Chuck being gone, the thought of walking into the Buy More one day and not seeing his smiling face looking back across the store at her.

It was why she had gone to the helipad in downtown. It was why she had had her hand on the butt of her gun, ready to draw it, ready to cause a .40 caliber hemorrhage in Agent Longshore if need be.

More than once since Christmas, as she had lain in bed, trying to fall asleep, the words had mockingly run through her head. _You're in love with him_, her mind told her. She refused to believe it. She refused to accept it, because she couldn't allow herself to be hurt.

And she knew that Graham and Beckman weren't going to give up on trying to extract Chuck from Los Angeles. Logically, she knew that they were right – he was in grave danger in the United States' second-largest city, and he could only truly be completely safe in a CIA facility.

But much as she wanted to, she couldn't let her heart overrule logic. It was too much of a risk.

She sighed as she turned away from the window. Her heart was heavy as she strode across the courtyard toward her car.

There was one way out of this. One way to rid herself of the entire situation in one fell swoop.

Doing this would require hurting Chuck far, far worse than she had ever hurt him before. The thought of doing so burned in the pit of her stomach. She consoled herself with the knowledge that though he would hurt for a while, after it faded, she would never be able to hurt him again.

If it was going to work, though, it had to be done quickly. She had to do this now, before she could stop herself, before HE could stop her. The worst part was that she wouldn't even be able to say good-bye.

Saying good-bye would just make it worse, though. And so, feeling as though her heart was turning to stone, she started up the Porsche, and headed for Long Beach.

* * *

**7:45 A.M.**

Chuck Bartowski really did not want to go to work that day. He had been up all night, trying not to get killed by Fulcrum or kidnapped by the CIA, and successfully hunting for Devin's great-grandmother's engagement ring – which now adorned his sister's hand.

He didn't really have a choice, though. He had missed so much of the previous day, running back and forth between Empire Plaza and the hangar at Bob Hope Airport where the CIA had moved the entire Buy More inventory. It had looked suspicious, and today, he absolutely had to go back to the store – and hope to God the CIA had returned everything.

"Slow down!" Ellie insisted as he shoveled his breakfast into his mouth. "You'll give yourself indigestion!"

"I'll give myself a late notice if I'm not in the store by 8:30," Chuck replied through a mouthful of pancakes. "You have no idea what Big Mike can be like when people are late."

Ellie had a thoughtful look on her face. _Oh no,_ Chuck groaned inwardly. He hated it when she had those looks on her face. It meant nothing good.

"Why didn't you invite Sarah in this morning?" she asked her brother.

His eyes widened. "I did!" he protested. "She said she was tired and needed to go home and get cleaned up!"

Ellie shook her head and smiled. "That's when you insist," she replied. "Sarah would probably never admit it, but I guarantee you that she probably would've been very pleased if you'd asked her again."

Chuck sighed. "I will never understand all the rules."

"No, you won't," Devin interjected, walking into the kitchen. "There comes a time when you just admit defeat and say, 'Yes ma'am'."

"I do have you well trained, don't I?" Ellie said with a smile. Chuck shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Ten minutes later, he walked out the door, headed for the car. Casey came out of his apartment, backpack over his shoulder, as Chuck walked past.

"Didn't I just see you?" Casey cracked.

"It's been a long, long night," Chuck admitted. He hit the button to unlock the Herder's doors. Casey climbed into the shotgun seat as Chuck walked around to the driver's door.

Chuck backed the little Toyota out of its parking spot and put it in gear, heading down toward Sunset Boulevard. "Listen," Casey said as they drove out. "There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Let me guess," Chuck said dryly. "You're madly in love with me and can't contain your feelings any longer."

Casey actually chuckled. "I'm sorry," Chuck said, "was that a LAUGH I just heard?"

"I'm tired," Casey shot back. "And no, that's not what I need to talk to you about."

He paused for a moment, recomposing his serious attitude. "I was talking to Walker about something this morning. There's something that you need to be prepared for – the possibility, in fact, the likelihood that the powers that be will try to extract you again. We're going to do our best to keep that from happening, but I can't guarantee anything."

Chuck nodded slowly. "I understand," he said quietly. "Thank you for being honest with me, Casey."

"It's the least I can do, I suppose," Casey replied. "It's not like you got into this situation voluntarily."

* * *

**9:15 A.M.**

**San Pedro, California**

Traffic on the I-110 freeway was nothing short of nightmarish. Getting here, Sarah had had to cross the 101, the 10, the 105, the 91, and the 405. With each successive freeway, she just got more and more frustrated.

The more frustrated she got, the more she began to have doubts about this plan. Was it worth it? Was it worth it to hurt Chuck this badly just to keep him from getting hurt again?

She shook those doubts off, though. It had to be done. He had to be freed from the pain of being associated with her, and the CIA had to understand that they couldn't treat him this way any longer.

The exits crawled past at a torturously slow pace. Sepulveda Boulevard. Pacific Coast Highway. Anaheim Street. Figueroa Street. Gallery Street. Finally, there they were. The signs for the exits to California State Highway 47.

Sarah joined the seemingly endless queue of cars and trucks in the exit lanes for CA-47 eastbound. As the ramp looped around, she thought over things one last time. The plan would work. It had to work.

The highway went past one last exit – Harbor Boulevard, Sarah's point of no return. And then she saw the signs.

"VINCENT THOMAS BRIDGE", a green sign proclaimed boldly, indicating that this bridge, once dubbed the "Bridge to Nowhere", was named for Vincent Thomas, former representative to the California State Assembly from San Pedro. And then there were the other signs.

They were smaller, and they were blue. There was one on each side of the highway, every five hundred feet. "Southern California Suicide Hotline – 1-877-727-4747".

Sarah tried to ignore those signs as her Porsche crawled past them at an agonizingly slow pace. She tried to look straight ahead, but she had to keep an eye on where she was going.

Finally, the bridge reached the end of the Catalina Terminal, and was out over open water. This was Sarah's destination.

She brought the Porsche to a halt, turned on the hazard lights, and engaged the parking brake. Taking a deep breath, she unbuckled her seatbelt, opened the driver's side door, and stepped out onto the highway.

Horns honked angrily behind her, but those quickly were silenced when she climbed over the guardrail on the side of the road. Sarah stood on the narrow strip of concrete between the guardrail and the support wire and willed herself to not look down.

A man popped out of the car behind hers. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"It's not what you think!" she shouted back.

"You don't have to do this, lady!"

"You don't understand!"

* * *

**9:25 A.M.**

**Buy More Empire Plaza**

**Burbank, California**

Lester came running into the store, flustered and out of breath. "Lester!" Chuck shouted when he saw him. "You're late! What the hell, dude?"

"No time, no time!" Lester replied, running up and grabbing the wall remote from Chuck's hand. Turning to the wall of twenty-four display plasma and LCD sets, he turned them all on, and began changing them all to either channel 4 or 7.

Both the NBC and ABC affiliates were helicopter shots of what Chuck immediately recognized as the Vincent Thomas Bridge. The line at the bottom of the KNBC shot said, "Possible Jumper on Vincent Thomas Bridge."

"Lester, what the hell," Chuck said. "That's not right, man."

"No, seriously!" Lester replied, turning up the volume from the KNBC-4 feed.

"_Paul, the jumper appears to be a woman in her mid-twenties, blonde hair, dressed completely in black,"_ came the voice of Paul Johnson, KNBC's traffic reporter. _"She's apparently been on the bridge for less than ten minutes. We were in the area, covering an accident on the 405 freeway when the call came in."_

KNBC anchor Paul Moyer said something in reply, but Chuck's attention had been lost. He was focused on one thing, and one thing alone – the fact that there was a blonde haired woman, dressed in black, standing on the edge of the Vincent Thomas Bridge… with a black Porsche 911 parked behind her.

"Oh God," he whispered. "Oh, God, no…"

Casey walked up behind him. "What the hell's going on?"

Chuck didn't say anything, couldn't say anything. He just pointed.

Casey looked at the screen, and then squinted. "No," he said in shock. "No, there's no way!"

That's when the woman pulled out her wallet and started pulling things out and tossing them over the edge. The camera on the KNBC helicopter zoomed in to catch an American Express Black card go fluttering toward the water –

And between the high definition camera on the helicopter and the high definition large screen television, there was no question that it was Sarah Walker standing on the edge of the bridge. A collective gasp filled the Buy More as most of its staff recognized her.

"Oh my God," Casey whispered. Chuck's legs gave way, and he fell to his knees, his stomach twisted in a knot, his heart filled with horror.

He watched as Sarah's wallet was flipped out into the bay. "You can't do this," he whispered. "Please don't do this…"

And then a thought occurred to him. "Did anybody see her throw her phone?" he asked, making his voice come out.

There was no answer. He forced himself to his feet and turned around. "DID SHE THROW HER FUCKING PHONE?!"

Morgan was the only one to speak. "I… I don't think so…"

Chuck yanked his iPhone from his belt and tried to dial. His trembling hands kept him from being able to do so, so he just hit the talk button and barked, "Sarah!"

* * *

Sarah had closed her eyes. This was going to be difficult. She had steeled herself –

And the Mexican Hat Dance began to sound from her pocket. Her eyes flew open, and she reached into her pocket. There was Chuck's smiling face looking at her from the iPhone.

She looked at the phone, and then up at the helicopter hovering so close to her. Her eyes welled with tears, and they spilled over, running down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I'm so sorry."

* * *

"_Oh my God… Paul… oh my God. She jumped."_

_**To be continued…**_


	2. The Shadow Proves the Sunshine

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 2: The Shadow Proves the Sunshine**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Sarah Walker/Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Ferry employee – Noel Gugliemli  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Big Mike Tucker – Mark Christopher Lawrence  
Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer

* * *

Sarah Walker closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and leapt from the Vincent Thomas Bridge.

She could hear the chorus of screams behind her as her body fell. Little did they know that she was using a dive technique that had been taught to her years before by a Marine Corps drill sergeant in Virginia.

As the water below rapidly approached, she took one last fleeting glance at Chuck's smiling face on the iPhone, and then let it go. She clasped her hands in an arrow shape ahead of her.

She was going almost thirty miles an hour when she pierced the surface of the water. Despite her form, the impact was severe enough to wrench her left shoulder from its joint. She forced herself not to cry out in pain, knowing that that would just cause her to swallow salt water.

She opened her eyes, the polluted salt water stinging them. She looked for and quickly found the shadow of the Vincent Thomas Bridge on the water. Moving quickly, she kicked her feet rapidly, propelling herself toward that shadow.

Once she was completely within the shadow of the bridge, she finally allowed herself to surface. Her head breached the surface of the water, and she gasped for breath, sucking in oxygen greedily. She could hear the horrified people on the bridge above, the sirens from the emergency vehicles, the news helicopters still hovering overhead.

She had to get out of the water, and fast, before they started searching for her body. Let them find the credit cards, the IDs, the by now fried iPhone, and let them assume that her body had been eaten by something.

A ferry to Santa Catalina Island was departing from the Catalina Terminal – no more than a hundred feet from where she floated in the water. Kicking again and using her good arm, she swam toward the ferry. She reached it just as it finished backing out of its berth.

A deck worker stood on the edge of the automobile deck, smoking a cigarette. "_¡Oyé!_" she called, just loud enough for him to hear.

He looked down, and then reacted in shock as he saw her floating in the water. "_Mujer loca_," he muttered, reaching down and tossing a rope ladder over the side of the boat.

Using her good arm, she struggled up the ladder. The deck worker reached over and helped her onto the ferry. "_Gracias_," she said, reaching into her pocket, withdrawing a waterlogged hundred dollar bill, and handing it to him.

He took the bill and looked her in the eyes. "I never saw you," he said in heavily accented English.

He turned away, and she disappeared between two rows of cars. Lifting her left arm with her right, she braced it against the side of a Ford Taurus. Gritting her teeth, she violently twisted her torso, popping the shoulder back into place.

She gasped, resisting the urge to scream. She collapsed between the cars and sat there for a moment, breathing heavily.

She stayed hidden between the cars for about an hour. It was not the first time she had been on the Catalina Island ferry, and so she knew just how long it took to go from San Pedro to Avalon.

She moved to the side of the boat, trying to ignore the twinge in her shoulder. Yep, there was the island, no more than a quarter mile away. They were probably five miles yet from the town of Avalon, which meant the boat would be docking in about fifteen minutes.

Gauging the speed of the current against the speed of the boat, she waited until just the right moment, and then jumped again. She hit the water feet first, not wanting to subject her shoulder to any more damage.

The tide was with her, and it carried her into shore quickly. She was on the beach within five minutes.

She walked onto shore, stripping down to her underwear as she went. She'd have to find an isolated spot somewhere away from the beach, let everything dry out, and recover for a little while.

She turned and looked across the harbor. Long Beach was barely visible on the horizon.

She sighed heavily, and she could feel her eyes stinging as they began to tear up. Chuck must know by now, and it had to be devastating for him.

But there was nothing she could do. Sarah Walker was dead. The woman standing on the beach on Catalina Island had no name, no identity. She was nobody.

* * *

**9:30 A.M.**

**Burbank, California**

Chuck stood, frozen in horror, the phone pressed to his ear. The high-definition shot from KNBC gave him a very clear view. Sarah pulled out her phone and looked at it. Chuck watched as her eyes welled up with tears.

She looked directly at the helicopter, and Chuck watched as she mouthed the words, _I'm sorry, Chuck. I'm so sorry._

And then, she stepped off the bridge.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Chuck screamed, rushing toward the televisions as though he could stop her. He collapsed to his knees in front of the wall, just in time to see a small splash on the water, far below the two helicopters.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, and yet he felt like his lungs were going to explode. He was certain his heart had stopped, and yet it was beating a double-time staccato. Chuck threw his head back and let loose a wordless howl of anguish.

Chuck felt hands grab him underneath his arms and begin to drag him away. He struck out blindly. John Casey and Morgan Grimes pulled him away from the television sets, tears streaming down their own faces, yet determined to get Chuck as far from the televisions as possible.

Big Mike ordered the wall shut off as Chuck was dragged away. He told everybody to get back to work, and then followed Casey and Morgan toward the back.

He reached the back of the store, and burst through the break room doors, to find Chuck huddled, catatonic, in the fetal position in the corner. Casey and Morgan stood over him, concern written on their faces.

"You've got to get him out of here," Big Mike told them, very seriously. "He's gonna turn psychotic if you don't get him somewhere safe. And I think the two of you need to go as well."

Casey nodded. "I'm gonna go get the Herder and pull it around to the loading dock," he told Morgan in a very tight voice. "Keep an eye on him."

Morgan nodded wordlessly. Casey ran out of the back and through the store.

A moment later, the NSA agent reappeared. "Okay, let's get him out of here," he said to Morgan.

"Hey, buddy, we gotta go," Morgan said quietly, trying to get Chuck to move. Chuck didn't move – he just stared straight ahead, rocking back and forth a little.

Casey steeled himself. "BARTOWSKI!" he barked. That got through. Chuck looked up at him. "Move your ass!"

Chuck stood, and the look on his face was so depressing that Casey immediately felt bad for yelling – and Casey NEVER felt bad about yelling. Wordlessly, Casey and Morgan each took one of Chuck's arms and guided him to the loading dock.

Casey unlocked the Herder with the remote. Morgan opened the shotgun door, and got in the back seat. Casey loaded Chuck into the shotgun seat. Like an automaton, Chuck reached for the seatbelt and pulled it across himself, buckling himself in. Casey ran around and got in the driver's seat.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the apartment complex. Casey got out of the Herder and pulled Chuck out. Morgan bailed, and together, they guided Chuck to the apartment. Casey opened the door, and they led him inside, sitting him down at the kitchen table.

Ellie Bartowski was in the kitchen, and was rather surprised to see them come in. "John?" she asked in surprise. "What are you doing –"

And then she caught sight of her brother's face. "What the hell happened?!"

Casey let go of Chuck's arm, leaving him to Morgan. He grabbed Ellie's, and pulled her out into the living room.

"Walker… um, Sarah committed suicide," he told Ellie with no preamble. This drew a horrified gasp from the doctor, her hands flying to her mouth. "She jumped off the Vincent Thomas Bridge. KNBC and KABC were both there, and Chuck… well, he happened to be unlucky enough to see it happen on live TV."

"Oh my God," Ellie whispered. Turning her back on Casey, she dashed back into the kitchen. Ellie threw her arms around her little brother, embracing him tightly. "I'm sorry, Chuck," she sobbed. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry."

What Chuck said then was surprising, and a little bit disturbing as well. "It's okay, Ellie," he said softly, his voice oddly vacant. "Sarah's in heaven now, with Dad and Grandpa and Grandma. That's what Pastor Dana would say."

Ellie pulled back and fixed Chuck with a look. "What?"

"I'm tired," he replied. "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

And with that, he stood, and wandered off to his bedroom. The door swung shut behind him.

"Who's Pastor Dana?" Casey asked, confused by what he'd just seen.

"Dana Hanson," Ellie replied distractedly. "He's the pastor at First Lutheran Church of Northridge – it's where we went when we were kids – he can't be in there alone. Somebody's gotta keep an eye on him."

Casey took Ellie by the arm and guided her into the living room again. "What I am about to tell you will sound completely unbelievable, but it's the truth," he said. "And you cannot ever, ever tell anybody. Understood?"

Ellie nodded, a startled look on her face. "Okay," Casey began. "Chuck is an employee of the United States government. He has a top secret job. I'm an agent of the National Security Agency. I was sent here to protect Chuck. His room is wired like a pinball machine. I will know in an instant if something goes wrong. Okay?"

"Sure," Ellie replied, looking shell-shocked. "Chuck works for the government?"

"That's all I can tell you," Casey replied. "It's for your own protection."

"Okay," Ellie said. "Um, where's your, uh, surveillance equipment?"

"It's in my apartment," Casey said. "I can go home, keep an eye on him from there. Why don't you and Morgan stay here, make sure everything's okay?"

Ellie nodded. "I'll be right next door if you need anything," Casey assured her.

He exited the apartment – and was struck by the fact that just four hours before, he had been standing RIGHT THERE, outside THAT WINDOW, looking in on the Bartowskis, with Sarah. What could have possibly driven her to do what she had done?

Casey shook his head as he crossed the courtyard. "I hope you had a really, really good reason, Walker," he muttered to himself.

He slammed open the door to his apartment and let it swing back shut behind him. He turned on the surveillance equipment and sent the audio feed to the small speakers sitting on either side of the portrait of Ronald Reagan.

There didn't seem to be any major activity coming from Bartowski's bedroom – just whimpering, interrupted by the occasional sob. Then Casey did something he'd never done before – he turned on the video feed.

The image on the screen was heartbreaking, even for somebody as tough as nails as John Casey. Chuck was curled up on his bed, back in the fetal position he had been in when he collapsed in the Buy More break room. This time, though, he had two things held tightly against his chest – the grey sweater that Sarah had accidentally left there the weekend before, and his framed picture of the two of them from Halloween.

"How could you do this to him, Walker?" Casey whispered to himself.

With a sigh, he crossed to the phone alcove, where his secure telephone rested. Picking it up, he dialed a number in Reston, Virginia. When it was answered, he asked to speak with Max Power.

There was a series of clicks and rings as the call was bounced from switchboard to switchboard, baffling whatever taps – the NSA's included – that might be listening in. Finally, the phone was picked up.

"Hello?"

"Larkin, this is Casey. Walker killed herself. If you care AT ALL for Bartowski, you will get your ass to Los Angeles, and I mean tonight."

* * *

Somewhere in Venezuela, Bryce Larkin's cell phone fell from his hand and clattered to the floor. "Oh my God," he breathed, a tear rolling unbidden from his eye.


	3. Twenty Four

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 3: Twenty-Four**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Hotel manager – Seth Green  
Hotel concierge – Breckin Meyer  
Devon Woodcomb – Ryan McPartlin  
Langston Arthur Graham – Tony Todd

* * *

_Twenty-four oceans, twenty-four skies  
Twenty-four failures in twenty-four tries  
Twenty-four finds me in twenty-fourth place  
Twenty-four dropouts at the end of the day_

**2:30 P.M., Pacific Standard Time**

**Wednesday, January 30th, 2008**

**Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California**

Her clothes were dry – well, close enough to dry, if a little salt-encrusted. The roll of cash she had had in her pocket was still damp, but that couldn't be helped.

She had just over five thousand dollars cash on her. Thank God she had thought of grabbing it the night before – the thought that she might be able to bribe Longshore had occurred to her, and so she'd gone to the hotel to retrieve her emergency cash.

_Fucking Longshore_, she thought bitterly. Not that any of this was really his fault – he'd just been following orders when he came to extract Chuck. Nonetheless, he was a rather convenient, if dead, target for her anger.

She'd thought that the hike into Avalon was going to be significant, but it turned out it was actually pretty easy to just walk down the beach. There weren't too many tourists on Catalina at this time of year – sure, the island still did pretty good business, but the end of January was a little cold off the coast of Southern California.

Arriving in Avalon was comforting. Even though she'd only been there a couple of times, it was at least familiar. She walked south into town until she reached Whittley Avenue, and then turned right.

There it was. The Avalon Hotel. She'd stayed there once on a mission, once just for fun. She had really wanted to bring Chuck there –

_STOP IT_, she commanded herself. _You will just drive yourself crazy._

As she entered the lobby, she drew a couple of stares. That wasn't surprising – she probably looked like the wild woman of Borneo at that point. At least, though, she probably wouldn't be immediately recognizable as the Vincent Thomas Bridge jumper – not with her hair tied back, and her black jacket tied around her waist.

She walked directly to the front desk. "Can I help you… ma'am?" the desk clerk asked, raising his eyebrow.

"I need your least expensive room with a king bed," she replied.

"Do you have a major credit card, ma'am?"

She sighed. "I do not, but…" She pulled out the roll of cash. "I will give you cash for ten nights, up front. By the tenth night, I will either give you a credit card, or I will check out."

The appearance of the large roll of cash instantly changed the clerk's demeanor. "Excellent, ma'am," he replied. "Our least expensive room is one hundred ninety-five dollars per night, plus a ten dollar nightly hospitality fee, and nine point five percent tax. For ten nights, that will come to a total of…" He fiddled with a calculator for a moment. "Two thousand, two hundred forty-four dollars and seventy-five cents."

She peeled twenty-three one hundred dollar bills off of the slightly damp roll. "Here's twenty-three hundred," she said. "Just apply the difference to the account as well."

The clerk smiled. "Of course. If you could please fill out this registration card…"

He slid the card and a pen across the desk. She hesitated for a moment. What name to put on the card?

After a moment, she began to write. _Elizabeth Reynolds_, she wrote on the card. Her real name. A name she hadn't used in nearly six years. For her address, she put her long unused post office box in Herndon, Virgina.

She slid the registration card back across the desk to the clerk. "Very good, Ms. Reynolds," he said. "May I see your driver's license, please?"

Beth Reynolds peeled another hundred dollar bill off and handed it to him. "Most excellent," he said with a smile. He reached into a drawer below and pulled out a key card. Placing it into a reader, he punched in the room number. A moment later, he handed her the card. "Room 112," he informed her.

"Thank you," Beth said. "Is your concierge around?"

The front desk clerk pointed to a stand near the desk. "Thank you for all your help," she said.

Beth headed toward the concierge. On her way, she snagged an Avalon Hotel notepad and a pen from the desk. She began to write out a list of things she would need.

"Good afternoon," the concierge said as she approached, standing to his feet. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I need some items," Beth replied. She tore the top sheet off of the notepad and handed him the list. "Clothes, toiletries, hair color, so on – everything on this list. My sizes for the clothes are listed there."

"Where would you like me to acquire these items?" the concierge asked.

Beth retrieved the cash roll and peeled off six one hundred dollar bills. "Six hundred dollars," she told the concierge, handing him the money. "Now, I don't care where you go to buy these things – it can be here on the island, or you can have somebody go to Target in Long Beach and send them over on the ferry for all I care."

She leaned in with a smile. "Just keep in mind – wherever you go, you may keep the change."

The concierge smiled back. "Thank you very much, ma'am. We'll have this for you by six o'clock."

As Beth Reynolds walked away from the concierge stand, she heard him pick up the phone. "Eddie? Hey, it's Bob. Listen – I need you to go to the store, get some stuff for me, and bring it over on the ferry."

_Life is not what I thought it was, twenty-four hours ago  
Still I'm singing, Spirit take me up in arms with You.  
And I'm not who I thought I was, twenty-four hours ago  
Still I'm singing, Spirit take me up in arms with You._

Beth stood under the hot stream of water in the shower for nearly an hour. The dirt, the grime, the dumpster sludge, the salt – they all washed away in the first five minutes. But she just felt so unspeakably dirty, so unbearably filthy – she tried to wash it all away.

When she stepped out of the shower, she toweled off, and wrapped one of the hotel's bathrobes around herself. Picking up the pair of jeans she had been wearing, she began to go through its pockets, to make sure that there was nothing – absolutely nothing – that could be used to identify her if somebody were to find them in the trash.

She reached into the back pocket – and there was something in there. Something printed on heavy paper stock. Curious, she pulled it out and looked at it – and her heart froze.

It was a picture of her and Chuck at Christmas. They weren't looking at the camera, but at each other. She smiled sadly as she looked at the unabashed affection, the love for her on his face – and was surprised but not shocked to see the same look on her own face.

The ink on the picture had run a little bit from being in the water, but not too terribly so. She sighed. She couldn't keep the picture. It was too much of a risk.

Tears started to come to her eyes as she grasped the picture and prepared to rip it in half –

No. She refused to do it. Beth Reynolds was not going to give up this last tiny reminder of what her life as Sarah Walker had been like, what she could have had with Chuck Bartowski. As long as she was alive, that picture was going to stay with her.

Beth collapsed onto the bed and turned on the television. That was a mistake, because the lead story on KNBC-4's news was about the Vincent Thomas Bridge Jumper – her. "The jumper has been identified as twenty-five year old Sarah Walker of Los Angeles," anchor Paul Moyer was saying. "The Los Angeles County Sheriff has been unable to find any next of kin. They have also not as yet found the body, although they did discover a school of tiger sharks in the area."

Beth shuddered. She probably wouldn't have taken the plunge if she'd known there were sharks in the water.

She flipped the TV to Comedy Central. Hmmm, _Half-Baked_ was on. That was good mindless entertainment. It would take her mind off of things.

Half an hour later, as Harland Williams was being hauled off to jail for killing an unfortunate police horse, there was a knock on the door. Instinctively, she looked around for her gun – no gun. That had been left in the Porsche on the Vincent Thomas Bridge.

With a sense of trepidation, she crossed to the door and looked through the peephole – oh, it was just the concierge. She unlocked the door and swung it open.

"Good evening, Ms. Reynolds," he said, handing her three large Target bags. "Everything you asked for."

"Thank you very much," she said.

"Have a good evening," the concierge replied. He turned and walked away down the hall, not expecting a tip – and he damn well shouldn't have, Beth thought, looking at the receipt. The total bill had only come to four hundred thirty-seven dollars, which meant that the concierge essentially got a one hundred sixty-three dollar tip out of it. She hoped he'd shared at least a portion of that with his friend on the mainland.

The bags contained just what Beth had requested. Five black fitted t-shirts. Three pairs of black jeans. Two black blouses. Two black skirts. Seven sets of black underwear. A pair of black tennis shoes, a pair of black dress shoes, a pair of black flip-flops…

And a pair of black Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars. She smiled sadly at seeing those. Okay, so she would keep two reminders of her life as Sarah Walker.

The bags also contained the basic makeup she needed on a daily basis, a pair of scissors and a hair clipper, and a box of red hair dye. Necessary toiletries were in there, along with a cheap fake leather wallet, and possibly the most important item – a Virgin Mobile pre-paid cell phone.

Picking up the bedside phone, she followed the instructions to activate the cell phone. Then, depressing the hook, she dialed another number from memory.

After two rings, the phone on the other end was answered. "Good evening, you have reached the Cayman National Bank," she heard. "My name is Robert. How may I be of assistance?"

"I need to access account Victor one four seven nine Bravo six four nine," she replied.

"A moment," was the response. Then: "Password, please?"

"Mothball soup."

"Thank you." He was quiet for a moment, and then when he spoke again, he said, "Sixty-two."

Oh, shit. The challenge and response code. Beth thought for a moment. What was the formula? Take the number given, find the next ascending prime number, divide by three, multiply by pi to two decimal places…

She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, thinking about it for a moment. When she figured out the answer, she said, "Seventy point one three."

There was another moment of silence as Robert used a calculator, and then he spoke again. "Thank you, ma'am. Your identity is confirmed. How may I be of assistance to you this evening?"

She breathed a sigh of relief. She'd gotten it right. "I need to transfer five hundred thousand dollars to a Bank of America account," she replied. She gave him the transit number and the account number. "I also need the contents of my safe deposit box shipped to Elizabeth Reynolds in care of the Avalon Hotel, 124 Whittley Avenue, Avalon, California, USA, 90704. In addition, I will need an American Express Black card, issued in the same name, drawn on my remaining credit with the bank."

There was another moment of quiet on the other end as Robert punched the instructions into his computer. "Very good, ma'am," he finally said. "The funds will transfer immediately. The other items will be delivered no later than 6:00 PM Pacific Time on Friday, February 1st. Is there anything else I can assist you with this evening."

"No, thank you, that's all," Beth replied.

"Have a good evening, ma'am."

_Twenty-four reasons to admit that I'm wrong  
With all my excuses still twenty-four strong  
See, I'm not copping out, not copping out, not copping out  
When You're raising the dead in me,  
Oh, oh, I am the second man  
Oh, oh, I am the second man now,  
Oh, oh, I am the second man now…_

An hour later, she barely recognized herself in the mirror. Gone was the haircut she'd had since her freshman year of high school, replaced by a shoulder length bob. Gone were the platinum tresses that had so often weakened men's knees – Chuck's included. The blonde hair was replaced by a subtle amber tone with vague blonde highlights that actually looked natural, she was surprised to see.

Shedding the bathrobe, she began to dress. She winced at the stiffness of the Target-bought bra. There was a reason why she generally shopped at Victoria's Secret, but when one was trying to disappear, one went with what one could get.

Beth pulled on one of the black t-shirts and a pair of the jeans. Putting on socks, she reached for the tennis shoes – but then, reconsidered, and grabbed the Converse shoes.

Fifteen minutes later, she walked out the front door of the hotel onto Whittley Avenue. Just after seven o'clock, it was already dark out. She sighed, but remembered that this WAS Catalina, and she DID know over a hundred ways to kill somebody, should they be so foolish as to attack her.

She turned left, headed toward the beach. When she turned right, she reached Crescent Avenue. She smiled as Antonio's Pizzeria came into view. She'd been there once before, with Bryce – before he had turned into a total tool.

Beth frowned at thinking of Bryce that way. She couldn't help but think that it had been partially her fault. After all, she had lied to him repeatedly about the mission in London – the mission to assassinate Alexander Litvinenko – and in the end, that had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back for him. Oh sure, he'd tried to make it work, but their relationship had never recovered.

It didn't help that he'd showed up again back at Thanksgiving. If he hadn't shown up, Fulcrum probably wouldn't have figured out that Chuck was the Intersect. Chuck wouldn't have been in constant danger, and maybe Sarah Walker would've been able to let her guard down just enough to show Chuck how she really felt about him.

Beth slapped her hands against her legs in frustration. She had to stop thinking that way. She had to stop thinking about Chuck, stop thinking about Bryce. She had to go back to being Beth Reynolds, Boston Latin High, class of 2000, genius, U-Mass dropout.

_And You're raising these twenty-four voices with twenty-four hearts  
With all of my symphonies in twenty-four parts  
But I want to be one today, centered and true  
I'm singing, Spirit take me up in arms with You_

_

* * *

  
_

Two days after Beth arrived on Catalina Island, a FedEx box arrived for her at the Avalon Hotel. The sender was Cayman National Bank, Ltd., and the box was marked urgent, fragile, and confidential.

Taking it back to her room, she spilled the contents onto her bed. All her old documents that identified her as Beth Reynolds were there – a Massachusetts driver's license, good until June of that year, a US passport, good until 2010, a debit card for the Bank of America account, good until March of 2009, the American Express Black card that she had requested, and most importantly, the broken-down parts of a Colt M1911A1 handgun.

She had not been happy at having to leave behind the Marine Recon edition M1911 that Gunny Martin Adams had given her six years before, but it had been necessary. She only hoped that it somehow ended up in John Casey's hands – she knew he'd appreciate such a gun.

Beth quickly assembled the M1911A1, slapped in the one loaded clip, and slipped it into the waistband of her jeans, behind her back. The reassuring presence of the gun behind her brought a small measure of comfort.

The driver's license, the AMEX Black, and the B of A Visa debit card all went into her wallet, which still contained more than two thousand dollars in cash. She felt almost back to normal again, a wallet in her left pocket, a cell phone in her right, her passport in her back pocket, and a gun in her waistband.

Her first stop was downstairs at the front desk, where she presented the desk clerk – the same one who had checked her in – with the AMEX Black card and her driver's license. Dollar signs practically registered in his eyes at the appearance of the American Express card, and he offered to upgrade her – for free – to a nicer room. Beth thanked him and declined, saying she liked the room she was in.

Beth's next stop had been at a house near the beach. A retired optometrist lived there, and according to the concierge, he ran a small part-time practice out of the house. He was home when Beth arrived, and he had been more than happy to provide her with eye-color changing contact lenses in exchange for several crisp hundred dollar bills.

So now, Beth Reynolds had red hair and green eyes. When her driver's license expired in June and she went to the mainland to get a California one, she would have to remove the contacts, but the hair could easily be explained away.

She needed something to do with her time, too, but something that would keep her hidden. So her next stop was at Catalina Computers. Sure enough, they needed a part time tech-support person, and Beth had picked up more than enough in her time spent with Chuck to fill that role.

_You're raising the dead in me  
Oh, oh, I am the second man  
Oh, oh, I am the second man now,  
Oh, oh, I am the second man now,  
And you're raising the dead in me_

_

* * *

  
_

Beth acquired a MacBook laptop by the time she'd been on the island for a week. The Avalon Hotel provided WiFi access included with the stay, so she'd been able to get onto the Internet no problem.

The problem had come when she needed to do some hacking. However, the assistance of a rather unscrupulous Nerd Herder at a Buy More in Dallas had allowed her to get basically anywhere she wanted.

One of the first computer databases she had visited was that of the Central Intelligence Agency. The first thing she looked at was the file on Sarah Walker. It had already been closed, and she was marked as DECEASED. An addendum to the file showed that the CIA was leaning on the Los Angeles County Coroner's office to officially declare Sarah Walker dead, body or no.

That satisfied Beth in a strange way. If the CIA thought she was dead, so much the better.

She then accidentally stumbled upon a proposal known as Project MOAB. As she read through it, she realized in horror that it was a plan to extract Chuck from Los Angeles and place him in a secure facility in Utah. After determining that it had not yet been forwarded to Graham or Beckman, she deleted the proposal and everything she could find that was related to it. Then she put an "official" reprimand in the file of the analyst who had made the proposal.

February turned into March. Spring turned into summer. Tourist traffic increased. Beth managed to keep a low profile, not attracting too much attention, but not flying too far under the radar. She managed to just be a non-entity.

In June, she was sent to the Villa Portofino Hotel for a tech support call. The order was for an individual named D. Woodcomb. The name didn't register, but it did set off alarm bells. She decided to go in a bit of disguise, just as a precautionary measure.

She added a pair of black-frame glasses to her green contacts. A San Diego State ballcap went on her head. A rainbow t-shirt with a peace sign along with a pair of torn and faded blue jeans completed the nerd image. The rarely-worn Chuck Taylors went on her feet.

When the door was answered, she almost passed out. D. Woodcomb was Devon "Captain Awesome" Woodcomb.

Beth was shocked, but recovered quickly. Fortunately, Devon didn't seem to recognize her, and she breathed a prayer of thanks that she had decided to go in disguise.

Devon explained that Ellie's computer had somehow developed a corruption of Windows XP. Beth worked hurriedly to repair the problem, hoping against hope that Ellie wouldn't come back to the hotel room and find her there. Devon might not have recognized her, but she was certain that Ellie would. Women – sisters of wronged men, especially – just seemed to be that way.

Ellie fortunately did not show up before she finished. When she filled out the invoice and handed it to Devon, though, he looked at it strangely, as though he recognized the handwriting. He looked up at her. "Have we met before?"

She did her best to put a bemused look on her face. "I don't think so," she replied. "I grew up in San Diego, and I've lived her for quite a while."

He shrugged. "Eh. I guess you just look familiar."

She smiled. "I get that a lot."

Devon finished filling out his credit card information, signed the invoice, and handed it back to her. "Well, thanks. My fiancée will appreciate it."

Beth nodded, her smile becoming strained. "Glad to hear it. Have a good day!"

When she got back to the Avalon Hotel, though, Beth collapsed on her bed and went on a ten minute crying jag. It was not amusing at all to run into Chuck's family like that, and it was quite an emotional strain to be around Captain Awesome for nearly an hour and not be able to indicate AT ALL that she knew him.

_I want to see miracles, to see the world change  
I wrestled the angel, for more than a name  
For more than a feeling, for more than a cause  
I'm singing Spirit, take me up in arms with You,  
And You're raising the dead in me._

_

* * *

  
_

After Devon and Ellie left the island, Beth breathed a sigh of relief. There were no more encounters like that.

June passed and turned into July. In early July, there was a story about a sleeper cell that had gotten their hands on a shipment of Stinger missiles and parked themselves outside of MCAS Miramar. They had actually managed to shoot down an F/A-18 Hornet – piloted by one Lieutenant Will Williamson – but he had ejected safely, and the sleeper cell had been quickly found.

Beth discovered that she could get used to living on Catalina Island. It was quiet, it was peaceful. There wasn't much noise pollution, air pollution, or light pollution. She could spend her free time on the beach, and only once had she been asked by a teenager if the "curtains matched the drapes".

That teenager had gotten his ass kicked.

The only problem with enjoying living on Catalina so much was that Beth discovered she was lonely. She didn't really have any friends on the island, and the one person who she wished more than anything could be there with her, she could never allow herself to see again.

She refused to start drinking again. That had caused her more trouble than it was worth in college. And so, she went through each day, lonely, her mind clear and more than able to process the fact that she was lonely.

And then, one day in late July, the shit hit the fan.

Beth was working at Catalina Computers one afternoon, when she heard the door open. A moment later, the bell on the counter rang. "Just a moment!" she called, reattaching the side panel to the Alienware desktop she was working on.

Setting the desktop down, she exited the back room and walked up to the counter –

And came face to face with Langston Arthur Graham, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.

There was a barely contained look of rage on his face. It was clear that he was not surprised to see her. He had come here seeking her out.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND, WALKER?!"

_Twenty-four voices, with twenty-four hearts  
With all of my symphonies in twenty-four parts  
I'm not copping out, not copping out, not copping out…_


	4. Might Have Ben Hur

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 4: Might Have Ben Hur**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Langston Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Rev. Dana Hanson – himself  
Ellie Bartowski – Sarah Lancaster  
Devon Woodcomb – Ryan McPartlin  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Carina Hansen – Mini Anden

* * *

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR GODDAMN MIND, WALKER?!"

Beth flinched. It had been nearly six months since anybody had called her "Walker", and even longer than that since anybody had spoken to her in that fashion.

She went with strategy number one, though. Play dumb, try to convince Director Graham that this was a case of mistaken identity. "I'm sorry, sir, I think you have the wrong person."

Graham rolled his eyes. "Please," he snarked. "Sarah Walker, Elizabeth Reynolds, whatever you're calling yourself these days. I'm the director of an intelligence agency. Give me some credit."

Oh well, it had been worth a shot. "Okay," she replied. "You found me. How? Why?"

Her voice took on a certain urgency with those two questions. "I'll tell you," Graham said. "But first, you're going to tell me how and why you disappeared."

Beth nodded. "Fair enough. The why is simple – if I disappeared, the CIA couldn't use me to hurt Chuck Bartowski anymore. I couldn't allow him to be hurt by me anymore. I knew that he'd be hurt by my disappearance, but that would be the end of it. As far as how – I was taught how to dive into water from great heights. I dove into Long Beach Harbor and stowed away on the Catalina Island Ferry. I rented a hotel room here, changed my appearance, and transferred funds and materials I had at a bank in the Caymans."

Graham nodded. "Pretty slick," he admitted. "Your mistake, though, was using your birth name. Now, granted, nobody even thought to look for you under that for months, but when we found that an AMEX Black had been issued in the name of Elizabeth Reynolds, that set off an alarm bell – at least for me and Mike O'Halloran. After that, it was pretty easy to track you here."

"Alright," Beth said. "But why? Could you possibly have thought that I'd go back inside now?"

Graham looked at her for a moment. Finally, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a flash drive. "You have a computer we can use?"

Beth cocked her head and gave him a look. "Seriously?" she said. "We're in a computer shop."

"I'll take that as a yes," Graham replied. "Take this flash drive and plug it into a computer. Then watch the file titled . Maybe then you'll understand why."

Beth nodded. "Alright." She took the flash drive and plugged it into the desk computer. It loaded fairly quickly, and she told Windows Media Player to open the file.

"It's a surveillance video," Graham explained as it started.

* * *

**9:30 A.M., Pacific Standard Time**

**Thursday, February 28th, 2008**

**Forest Lawn Cemetery**

**Los Angeles, California**

The decision had been practically incomprehensible. The choice to purchase a headstone and an empty plot. Maybe the headstone was understandable as a memorial, but purchasing the empty plot in the vain hope that the Los Angeles County Sheriff would find a body?

Madness.

But nobody dared say a word to Chuck Bartowski. They were all quite certain that he would end anybody who dared question any decision he made regarding how to memorialize Sarah Walker.

The headstone was simple. Bryce had told Chuck what Sarah's birthday was, and so he was able to put that on the headstone. It read, "Sarah Walker, June 14, 1982 – January 30, 2008, Leader, Lifesaver, Loving Friend."

Chuck had asked Dana Hanson, his old pastor, to do a brief memorial service. Pastor Hanson found that request a little odd, since Chuck hadn't himself set foot in First Lutheran Church in over ten years, and Sarah had been a non-observant Catholic. But Ellie had asked him to please just go along with it, because she believed that Chuck's mental state was extremely fragile.

And so, when the Los Angeles County Coroner issued an official certificate of death on February 27th, Chuck decided that the service would happen the next day. He personally called Forest Lawn and convinced them to allow a small service on the plot itself.

It was a small affair. Chuck was there, of course, along with Ellie and Devon. Morgan and Casey were there, and Bryce and Carina had both come into town. That was it.

Dana Hanson stood in front of the six of them, a small black book open in the palm of his hand. "Good morning," he said quietly. "We are here today to commemorate the life of Sarah Walker, to remember her death, and to celebrate her new life with our Lord. Will you pray with me?"

Everybody bowed their heads, even though there wasn't a single one of them who was observant. "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the source of all mercy and the God of all consolation," Pastor Hanson said. "He comforts us in all our sorrows so that we can comfort others in their sorrows with the consolation we ourselves have received from God."

Chuck could feel a tear begin to trickle down his right cheek. He reached up and angrily wiped it away. He had kept his composure for the last four weeks, and he was not going to let it crack now.

"When we were baptized in Christ Jesus, we were baptized into his death. We were buried therefore with him by Baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live a new life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his. It is this that we pray for our sister, Sarah, in the name of God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit."

Chuck crossed himself – something he hadn't done in years. "Amen."

"Please be seated," Pastor Hanson said. As they sat, Chuck turned and looked to Carina. He nodded.

She nodded back and rose from her seat, walking to stand by the headstone. Carina stood there for a moment, her eyes closed, and then she opened her mouth and began to sing.

"_When peace, like a river, attendeth my way… when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul!_

"_It is well, with my soul… it is well, it is well, with my soul!_"

Chuck had had no idea that Carina could sing. However, when she had asked if she could do just that brief bit at the memorial service, he had readily agreed. She had said she couldn't really explain, but that she felt she owed it to Sarah.

Carina returned to her seat, and Pastor Hanson stood again. "The Lord be with you," he said.

"And also with you," Chuck, Ellie, and Carina responded. Everybody else looked a little confused.

"Let us pray," Pastor Hanson continued. "Oh God of grace and glory, we remember before you today our sister, Sarah. We thank you for giving her to us to know and to love as a companion in our pilgrimage on earth. In your boundless compassion, console us who mourn. Give us quiet confidence that we may continue our course in faith, through your Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord."

"Amen," Chuck whispered.

"Chuck has indicated that he'd like to say a few words," Dana Hanson said. "So, at this time, I'm going to invite him to come up and share with us all."

Chuck stood and turned to face the six other people sitting there. "It's funny, how I met Sarah," he began. "She had a broken cell phone, of all things."

He smiled, remembering the first time she had walked into the Buy More. "As she walked up to us, Morgan compared her to Vicki Vale, from Batman, so her first impression of me was doing this ridiculous little beatbox with the name Vicki Vale."

That drew a few chuckles. "But she didn't judge me, then, or ever," he continued. "Despite the fact that I never would've thought that I could possibly be in any sort of social circle with her, she always treated me as an equal. Even when I pissed her off – which, believe me, was more often than not – she still found the patience to deal with me."

He looked down. "I don't know why she chose to leave us in the way she did, but I will tell you that I will always value, always treasure every moment that I got to spend with her. Every smile, every greeting, every brush of the hand – those are memories that will never disappear."

Chuck sighed, and took a breath to maintain his composure. "Bryce, Morgan, I hate to break it to you, guys, but she was my best friend."

His two friends both silently nodded. They understood, but for totally different reasons. "I loved her in a way that had nothing to do with romance or anything like that," Chuck continued. "She was always there for me. She would have done anything for me, and I have to believe that even in the end, I was still in her thoughts."

Chuck nodded, and it looked like he was going to say something else, but then he abruptly sat down. Dana Hanson looked over at him, and then rose.

"God has made us his people through our Baptism into Christ," he said. "Living together in trust and hope, we confess our faith."

All six people seated in front of Dana Hanson knew what to say here.

"_I believe in God, the Father Almighty, creator of heaven and earth._

"_I believe in Jesus Christ, his only Son, our Lord. He was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary. He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. On the third day, he rose again. He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again to judge the living and the dead._

"_I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen._"

"Into your hands, oh merciful Savior, we commend your servant, Sarah," Pastor Hanson continued. "Acknowledge, we humbly beseech you, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light."

"Amen."

"May the God of the resurrection, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, guide and bless you always."

"Amen."

"Go in peace, and serve the Lord."

"Thanks be to God."

Slowly, everybody trickled away from the grave site, retreating to the road where the cars were parked. Soon, Chuck was left alone by the headstone.

He sighed heavily. Walking back to the chair he had been sitting in, he reached under it, and withdrew the cellophane wrapped dozen red roses he had brought with him. He laid them against the headstone.

"I miss you, Sarah, I really do," he said quietly. "I wish I knew why you had done this. I wish you had just taken the time to talk to me. If it was something to do with the CIA, I'm sure you could've worked something out. You could've done anything. I know you could've.

"More than that, though, I wish you were here with me." Tears began to spill down his cheeks, and he finally allowed them to flow unchecked, after a month of keeping them inside. "I miss you so much… I love you."

He crouched down by the headstone. He bent his head, and the sobs finally began to come. For five minutes, he stayed there by the headstone, the tears and the grief spilling out of him. Finally, his chest stopped heaving. He looked up as a beam of sunshine finally broke through the marine layer, shining down on Chuck and the headstone.

A small smile crossed his face as he looked toward the sky. He stood up and looked down at the headstone.

"I'll see you later," he whispered.

* * *

**1:30 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**July 16th, 2008**

**Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California**

The video file came to an end. Beth stared at the screen, transfixed. She realized that her face was wet with her own tears.

Director Graham was still standing across the counter from her. "Are you pleased with yourself now?" he asked, his voice low.

Beth looked up at him, wide-eyed. She took a moment to process what Graham had just said, and then she hauled off and slapped him as hard as she could.

"How could you ask me that?!" she hissed, grief and rage piercing her voice. "How DARE you?!"

"It's time for you to come to grips with reality, Ms. Reynolds," Graham replied, ignoring the stinging in his face. "You've committed a very, very serious crime."

"Have I?" she asked. "As far as I was aware, Sarah Walker never actually existed."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. As far as Los Angeles County and the state of California were concerned, Sarah Walker was very real. The fact that you faked your own death could land you a lengthy jail term."

Graham sighed. "But I'm not here to take you in," he said. "I'm here to make you an offer."

Beth looked at him warily. "What offer would that be?"

"I'll forget all about the last six months – starting with the fact that you completely ignored orders and went to retrieve Bartowski from Longshore, and going right up until now – if you'll come back to the Agency. You can't be a deep-cover operative any longer, but I'm sure we'll find some use for Field Agent Elizabeth Lisa Reynolds."

She thought about it for a moment. "What would I have to do?" she finally asked.

Graham smiled. "The first thing you have to do is go to Los Angeles, retrieve your files on Bartowski from wherever you stashed them, and turn them over to me, so that I can provide them to his new handler."

"He has a new handler?"

Graham nodded. "We left him just with Casey for the last six months," he said. "He was practically worthless during that time anyway – he's had all of three flashes in that time. However, he recently created and sold a video game to Electronic Arts. With the five hundred thousand dollars he made off of it, he decided to move into his own place.

"We decided it would look suspicious for Agent Casey to up and move to Chuck's new apartment complex, so we're assigning a new handler to live in the same complex. She'll also be filling your role of cover girlfriend."

Beth's eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry, is that JEALOUSY I see?" Graham asked mockingly. "You should have perhaps thought about that before pulling your little Thelma and Louise act."

He shook his head. "Anyway, we'll be introducing him to her at Comic-Con the week after next. We can't just send her in there – it'd look too weird. And then, hopefully, she'll be able to get him back to being the Intersect all the time instead of once every other month."

"So, the new handler, she's Agency?" Beth asked, finally speaking.

"No," Graham replied bitterly. "After Larkin's break-in of the original Intersect and your little stunt, the NSA doesn't trust the CIA any longer. No, his new handler is FBI."

He stopped. "She even looks kind of like you used to, except smaller, like the Mini-Me to your Doctor Evil. Her name's Veronica Mars."


	5. Burn Out Bright

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 5: Burn Out Bright**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Eli "Weevil" Navarro – Francis Capra  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Devon Woodcomb – Ryan McPartlin  
Jewel Staite – herself  
General Diane Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy

* * *

**7:15 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Thursday, July 24th, 2008**

**Dana Point, California**

If there was one thing left – only one thing at all – that Eli Navarro could do in the world, he would want it to be riding.

Specifically, his 1968 Harley-Davidson FLH Electra Glide.

It had taken him five years to save up enough money just to buy a stripped down, beat up Electra Glide – and that had been occasionally interrupted by things like his dumbass cousin taking out fake credit cards in Lynn Echolls' name, being betrayed by one of his own gang members – that kind of bullshit.

But right at the moment, as he rode north on the Pacific Coast Highway toward Los Angeles, all was right with the world. Sure, he was kind of a lone wolf these days. Yeah, he kind of had a reputation for being Logan Echolls' bitch. Not that he cared. Logan paid him damn good money to be his bodyguard and enforcer.

Not that a "perfect" day could ever last. Hell, he'd only been on the road for twenty minutes when the Bluetooth earpiece built into his helmet began to warble.

He sighed. Why was he not surprised? A perfect day for a ride, and somebody had to interrupt it.

Truth be told, there was only one person he could think of that would call him at this time of the morning. "Answer," he told the Bluetooth. A tone in his earpiece indicated that the call had been connected.

"That you, white girl?" he asked with a smile.

"Why, Weevil, you know me too well," came the mocking answer.

"Special Agent Veronica Mars. What the hell is the FBI doing calling me up at seven AM on a Thursday?"

"I need your help, Weevil," he heard.

Eli rolled his eyes. Of course she needed his help. She always needed his help. There wasn't a day had gone by since he met the girl that he hadn't half expected his phone to ring or for her to show up on his doorstep, asking for his help.

"We talkin' a professional or a personal matter here?"

"Kind of both," she replied. "I need you to be an intimidating, crass man toward me in order for a mark to come to my rescue."

"A mark?" Weevil asked. "You want a bad guy to come riding in to rescue you from the big, bad Weevil?"

"He's not a bad guy, he's an asset who I'm trying to recruit," Veronica shot back with an exasperated tone. "Now, are you gonna help me or not?"

Weevil chuckled. "It'll cost you."

"Well, since I need you to do this at Comic-Con… will a free three day pass do it for you?"

THAT got his attention. "Damn, girl, you must really love me."

"San Diego Marriott, 12:00 noon," she said. "Don't be late."

* * *

**10:30 A.M.**

**San Diego Marriott**

Chuck Bartowski didn't get up as early as he might have at Comic-Cons past. That was okay, though. He didn't expect to see anybody important that morning.

That evening, though… well, Joss Whedon and Christopher Nolan were both on his "must see" list. He was quite excited about the last-minute additions of the _Firefly_ creator and the _Batman_ resurrector.

He took his time getting dressed. He wanted the outfit to look just right. He'd ended up going to a fairly large number of thrift stores throughout Los Angeles to complete the outfit – and had, in reality, ended up finding the last piece at Buffalo Exchange in Pacific Beach just the night before.

A brown utility shirt, tan pants with suspenders, and black boots had been easy enough to come by. Casey had provided him with the holster and revolver – "No ammo," Casey had growled. "You might put somebody's eye out."

The brown overcoat, though, had been practically impossible to find. And so, Chuck had been overjoyed to find the overcoat at Buffalo Exchange. So overjoyed, in fact, that he'd happily dropped two hundred dollars on it.

The fact of the matter was, if he was going to dress like Captain Mal Reynolds, the image had to be perfect. He had even gone so far as to get industrial strength hair gel to tame the curls and make his hair look more like Nathan Fillion's.

Smiling at himself in the mirror, he decided he fully approved. He grabbed his cell phone and wallet off the desk – and the picture of Sarah that he always kept in the wallet slipped out, falling to the desk.

Chuck saw the picture, and froze. It had been almost six months, but he still felt like he'd been kicked in the chest whenever he saw her face. Slowly, he reached down and picked up the picture.

He smiled sadly as he looked into the photographic reproduction of Sarah's sparkling blue eyes. "You know, I really wanted to bring you here," he said softly after a moment of quiet. "I think you really would've gotten a kick out of Comic-Con. I'm pretty sure I could've talked you into dressing up like Princess Leia… or Inara Serra…"

Chuck laughed. "I never did get around to educating you in the ways of Joss Whedon, did I? It would've been great."

He took one last look at the picture, and opened his wallet to replace it. Then, he reconsidered, and slid the picture into the left breast pocket on his shirt – right next to his heart.

He gently put his hand over the picture. Then, lifting his head, he grabbed the overcoat, shrugged into it, and headed out. It was time for the world to see Mal Reynolds.

Chuck had no idea who Devon and Morgan had decided to dress up as. He was quite certain, though, that John Casey would be dressed as himself. The NSA agent just didn't seem to be the type to get too heavily into this sort of thing.

And so, Chuck was VERY surprised to exit the elevator into the lobby and see there waiting for him Commissioner Jim Gordon of the Gotham Police, Clark Kent, and… Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood Three.

Chuck just sort of stared at Casey for a moment, his mouth agape. Casey would've been the last person he would have EVER expected to see donning the outfit of the bisexual time traveling space whore from the BBC's _Doctor Who_ and _Torchwood_ series.

Casey turned to see Chuck standing across the lobby, staring at him. "Don't you EVEN start, Bartowski," he growled. "I happen to like _Torchwood_."

Chuck raised his hands in mock surrender as he crossed the lobby. "I wasn't gonna say a WORD," he insisted.

He looked over at Devon. "You certainly make a convincing Clark Kent," he told his brother-in-law-to-be.

"Oh, you haven't seen the half of it," Devon said with a smile, pulling his tie aside and unbuttoning three buttons to reveal a Superman t-shirt.

"Awesome," Chuck laughed.

"Yes, it most certainly is."

Chuck turned his attention to Morgan. "As for you… you know, you've got the right looks for Gary Oldman's Jim Gordon, but… you're just kind of short."

"Dude!" Morgan replied. "So not cool!"

Chuck shrugged. "Just calling 'em like I see 'em."

And with that, the four men headed out of the Marriott, to go next door to the convention center. It was the ninth year in a row that Chuck had been to Comic-Con, the sixth in a row with Devon and Morgan. He had gone from 2000 to 2002 with Bryce and Jill, and then after being stabbed in the back by the two of them, Devon and Morgan had gone with him in 2003. The three had gone every year since, and this year, John Casey had joined them.

"It's for your own protection, Bartowski," he had growled when Chuck had started whining about how Casey would be a killjoy.

The early parts of the first day of Comic-Con didn't have that much going on, but Chuck had insisted on being there. "You never know who'll show up," he had said.

And it turned out his instincts were right on. They were walking through one of the exhibition halls when Morgan grabbed Chuck's arm. "Hey!" he said. "Isn't that Jewel Staite?"

Chuck froze. He turned to his right – and by God, it was Jewel Staite. Jennifer Keller on _Stargate: Atlantis_, but far more importantly to Chuck, Kaylee Frye on _Firefly_ and in _Serenity_.

Chuck had had a MAJOR thing for Kaylee when he was in college. _Firefly_ had aired during the first semester of that final, torturous year at Stanford. She was cute, she was funny, she was a total geek, and best of all, she seemed to really enjoy having sex. He knew she was a fictional character, but that didn't really change anything.

Three years later, when _Serenity_ had come out, Chuck had driven to Phoenix and slept overnight on a sidewalk outside a movie theatre to get a ticket to an advance screening. He got one of the last tickets, but he damn well thought it was worth it. His only quibble with the film was the fact that Kaylee had hooked up with Simon Tam at the end. He had stood up and loudly booed when that happened – and he was surprised to find that he was not the only one who did that!

And now, she was standing not thirty feet away from him. There was no huge crowd, no line of slobbering fans – just a few people, standing and having what appeared to be a fairly in-depth discussion with her, about who knew what.

"Dude!" Morgan said. "Are you gonna go talk to her?"

"In a minute," Chuck replied. "I'll wait till those people leave."

A moment later, they did. Chuck, getting more nervous with every footstep, walked over to her.

"Hi!" she said brightly, smiling at him as he approached. "You appear to be a Browncoat, and if I'm not mistaken, you're supposed to be Mal Reynolds!"

"Yeah, hi, my name's Fan Bartowski, I'm a big Chu –"

He froze. Then he laughed and smacked himself in the forehead. "I'm an idiot," he said.

"That's okay," she replied, laughing and holding out her hand. "Jewel Staite."

"Chuck Bartowski," he replied, taking her hand and shaking it. "Big fan, as I tried to say the first time around."

Staite cocked her head to the side. "Chuck Bartowski," she mused. "I know that name. Why do I know that name?"

Morgan had come up next to Chuck. "Why DO you know that name?" he asked, just as confused as Chuck.

Then her eyes widened. "Oh! You wrote that video game, _Mindnode_, the one Electronic Arts is making!"

Chuck's jaw dropped. "How the hell…"

She smiled. "They actually contacted me about voicing one of the characters – the female spy. Apparently they think I look just like the way you designed her."

She was right. It had caused a bit of consternation, too. When Chuck had shown Casey his graphic mockups of screenshots, Casey had studied them pretty closely. "Well," he had said slowly, "the guy in the nerd outfit obviously bears a resemblance to you, and the spy in the black suit is obviously me… but the girl – red hair, green eyes? She looks nothing like Walker."

Chuck had looked at Casey. "There's a reason for that," he said quietly. "I don't want her to look like Sarah. First of all, it would've been too painful for me to design that, and secondly, call me a little selfish, but I want to keep the memory of Sarah as part of this to myself. I don't want to share it in a video game, even if nobody knows who the characters really are based on."

But no matter what Chuck's reasons were for designing the character the way he had, it appeared that dumb luck had landed one of his all-time favorite actresses in his video game. HIS VIDEO GAME!

He managed to stay outwardly calm, while mentally doing jumping jacks and cartwheels. "Wow," he said. "That's fantastic!"

Her smile got a little bigger. "Well, glad to know you think so," she said. Digging in her purse, she pulled out a card. "Here," she said, handing it to him. "Give me a call some time – I want to get some ideas from you on what this character's supposed to be like. I figure if I'm going to be voicing her, it couldn't hurt to go to the source!"

The jumping jacks and cartwheels were replaced by back handsprings. "Absolutely," Chuck replied, doing his best to hide his incredulity.

"It was nice to meet you, Chuck," Jewel said, shaking his hand again. "I'll see you later!"

"Later," Chuck replied, as she walked away.

"Holy SHIT, dude!" Morgan breathed, once she was out of earshot. "You lucky bastard!"

"She's married," Chuck replied – and then he jumped and punched the air. "YES!"

Morgan laughed as Casey walked over shaking his head. "Seriously, fanboy, what was that all about?" the NSA agent asked.

"EA has asked her to voice the female character in _Mindnode!_" Chuck replied with a grin.

Casey shook his head. "You and that damn video game."

* * *

Two hours later, they were walking through another part of the center, when Morgan spotted something very attractive. "Princess Leia at two o'clock!" he hissed to Chuck.

Chuck looked where Morgan had indicated. Yes, indeed, there was a petite and rather attractive blonde, wearing the Princess Leia slave bikini – and nothing else. She was clearly trying to ignore a rather large and menacing looking Latino man who was wearing a Punisher t-shirt.

"Come on, babe, you know that the Princess wants to take a ride on the Punisher's hog!" he smarmed.

She looked at him with malice in her eyes. "I really hope that you're talking about your motorcycle, otherwise you're gonna get Maced."

"Aw, now what kind of way is that to talk? Of course the Weevil's talking about his motorcycle… for now!"

The blonde grew a look of disgust on her face, and then smacked the man with her purse. Instantly, a look of fury crossed his face, and he grabbed the woman by her upper arm.

"Okay, that's it," Chuck muttered, starting across the hall. Casey was right behind him, his hand instinctively going to the butt of his gun.

"Excuse me!" Chuck called as he approached. Both the man in the Punisher t-shirt and the woman in the Leia bikini looked at him. "I'm pretty sure she indicated that she wants you to leave her alone."

The man snorted. "What are you gonna do about it, white boy?"

Chuck shrugged. "Me, probably not much. But my friend here is a third-degree black belt, and could probably wipe the floor with you."

"Please, do something," Casey growled. "I need the practice."

The man stared back at him. Finally, he let go of the woman's arm, and began to walk away. "_Chinga tu madre, pinche cabron_," he tossed over his shoulder as he walked away.

"Straight back at you!" Casey called to his receding back.

"Glad to see the spirit of nerd camaraderie is alive and well at Comic-Con this year," Chuck deadpanned to the woman in the Princess Leia bikini. He held out his hand. "I'm Chuck Bartowski, and normally I don't do things like that. I don't know what got into me."

She smiled and took his hand. "Veronica Mars," she replied. "And I appreciate the fact that you did something out of the ordinary. That guy's been following me around all day."

Devon and Morgan walked up, joining Chuck and Casey. "Wow," Veronica said, looking around at them. "Mal Reynolds, Jack Harkness, Jim Gordon, and Clark Kent! Mind if I stick with you guys? I think I'd feel a lot safer."

Morgan's jaw was practically on the floor. "Now THAT is some serious nerd cred right there!"

He quickly composed himself. "Uh, Morgan Grimes."

"John Casey."

"Devon Woodcomb."

"And absolutely you can hang out with us," Chuck added. "We'd be happy to lend aid to the heir to the throne of Alderaan."

"What's left of it," Veronica cracked.

"Indeed," Chuck said, his face breaking into a rather large grin.

"If you'll excuse me just a moment, I need to use the restroom," she said. "I will be right back, I swear."

Chuck continued to smile as he watched her walk off. "Wow," Morgan said quietly. "I haven't seen a smile on your face like that since… well…"

Chuck nodded. "I know."

"She does look kind of like her, too," Morgan observed.

"Yeah," Chuck agreed, "sort of like the Mini-Me to her Doctor Evil."

* * *

"Beckman, secure."

"This is Mars, secure."

"Report?"

"I've made contact. He's with Major Casey, and two others – Grimes and Woodcomb. I'm going to wait till I can get a private moment with him to tell him who I really am."

"Understood. Keep me updated."

* * *

Veronica hung out with the four guys for the rest of the day. Interestingly enough, Chuck's demeanor changed drastically over the course of the day. Before, he had been seemingly happy, but definitely still reserved. Now, it seemed that the combination of meeting Jewel Staite and finding out that she was going to be part of his video game, and then meeting this Veronica Mars – well, as far as Morgan could tell, Chuck was the happiest he'd been since January 29th.

Toward the end of the afternoon, Veronica asked Chuck if he'd like to go to dinner with her. "Absolutely!" Morgan interrupted, jumping in to the conversation. "We were all gonna go to Hooters – you're welcome to come with us if you'd like."

"Sorry, Morgan, I was thinking just me and Chuck," Veronica replied with a slightly disbelieving smile. "But please, don't let me stop the rest of you from going and getting your tits – uh, I mean hot wings."

Morgan had tried to splutter a rebuttal to that remark, and both Casey and Devon had to turn away to keep from laughing at him. But sure enough, Veronica had dragged Chuck off, leaving the three others to go to Hooters without him.

Chuck and Veronica had both gone back to their hotel rooms, agreeing to meet down in the lobby at six o'clock. Chuck was still smiling when he reached his room to change.

As he was undressing, he realized that he still had Sarah's picture in his breast pocket. He pulled it out and looked at her again. "I think you'd like her," he said to the picture. "She looks a lot like you."

He stood there for a moment, the smile fading from his face. He slowly set the picture down on the desk, and went back to changing.

Chuck had opened the door, and was just about to leave, when he stopped. He looked up at the ceiling, and then sighed. He turned around, walked rapidly back to the desk, and grabbed the picture. It went right back in his wallet – where it still belonged.

Veronica – who was apparently familiar with the San Diego area – had taken Chuck to a little place in Ocean Beach called, appropriately enough, the Ocean Beach Grille. It was pretty clear that it did a booming business on the weekends, but on a Thursday night, it was all but dead.

Chuck's breath caught in his throat when he walked in and saw all the Patriots and Red Sox gear on the walls. If there was only one real thing he had known about Sarah, it was that she was a rabid fan of both of those two teams, but was fairly indifferent about the Celtics.

He sighed sadly. It would've been fun to needle her about the Patriots losing in the Superbowl.

Veronica looked at him in concern as they were seated. She could tell from his face that his demeanor had changed from that afternoon. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Chuck said quietly. "It's just that my… um… ex-girlfriend was a big Patriots and Red Sox fan, and being here reminds me a lot of her."

She cocked her head. "Was?"

Chuck nodded slowly. "She, uh, she… do you remember the woman who jumped off the Vincent Thomas Bridge back in January?"

Veronica's eyes widened. "Yeah, what was her name? Sarah Walker… oh, no."

Chuck nodded. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Chuck," she said softly. "We can go if you want…"

"No, it's okay," Chuck replied. "I have to move past it at some point."

She nodded – and then, pieces started falling into place, and her eyes narrowed. "Can you excuse me for just a second?" she asked.

"Sure," Chuck said with a shrug.

Veronica walked outside the restaurant, pulled out her phone, and dialed.

"Beckman, secure."

"Why the HELL didn't you tell me that Chuck's old handler was the woman who jumped off the Vincent Thomas Bridge?" Veronica demanded angrily. "And furthermore, why the HELL didn't you tell me how he felt about her?"

There was silence for a moment, and then General Beckman spoke. "First of all, we didn't think it was relevant for you to know about his previous handler."

"Of COURSE it's relevant!" Veronica exploded. "I need to know as MUCH AS POSSIBLE about this for me to properly work with him!"

Beckman sighed. "Fine. But what are you talking about how he felt about her?"

"You're kidding, right?"

"No," Beckman replied, a perplexed tone in her voice. "I really have no idea what you're talking about."

Veronica shook her head. "If you listen to him or look at his face when he's talking about her, it's pretty clear that he was in love with her."

Beckman sighed. "Well, I can't say that I'm surprised. Proceed with caution, Agent Mars. I don't want the same thing to happen again."

With a sigh of disgust, Veronica ended the call, and went back inside. No more beating around the bush.

"Chuck, can I ask you to do something?" she said as she sat down.

"Sure," he replied, his brow furrowing.

"Trust me."

He looked at her, confusion written on his face – and then, it dawned on him. "Oh for Christ's sake," he groaned. "Here we go again. What's your real name?" he asked sarcastically. "Mary Mercury?"

She looked at him, hurt. "No, it's Veronica Mars," she replied quietly. "I'm not CIA. I'm FBI. And yeah, I've been assigned to be your handler."

He shook his head and rolled his eyes. "I don't NEED another handler," he shot back. "Casey is MORE than enough, thank you."

"Yes, but you're moving," Veronica said. "It would look suspicious and quite frankly, weird for Major Casey to follow you to your new apartment complex. He'll still be one of your handlers, but the powers that be want somebody living near you to keep an eye on you."

"Oh, joy!" Chuck snarked. "That's what I need, another government baby sitter."

He laughed bitterly and shook his head. "I can't believe I thought you were some innocent girl in distress. That guy who was harassing you – he's just another agent, isn't he?"

"No," Veronica said, her eyes downcast. Her voice had taken on a quiet and hurt tone. "He's just a friend of mine who I had asked to do me a favor. And if you're wondering, yes, I actually am kind of upset by what you're saying. I told you, I'm FBI. I haven't had the training a CIA agent would've had."

Chuck was quiet for a moment. Finally, he sighed. "Alright," he said. "I mean, I hope you'll understand why I have trouble trusting you. It's not you – it's just everything I've been through in the last ten months."

Veronica nodded. "I understand," she replied. "Better than you know. I'll tell you about it some time… but right now, I think we should just have dinner. How about you?"

A glimmer of a smile started to return to Chuck's face. "Now why would somebody like you want to have dinner with somebody like me?"

A smile returned to her face as well. "Because you're cute, and I'm single?"

Chuck laughed. "Okay, well, I guess that'll do. For now."


	6. Love Is the Movement

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 6: Love is the Movement**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Langston Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Logan Echolls – Jason Dohring

* * *

**7:30 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Friday, September 5th, 2008**

**The Avalon Hotel**

**Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California**

Beth Reynolds was up early. Since she had gone back to the work for the CIA a month and a half before, her routine had changed drastically.

To begin with, the CIA had moved her to a suite where she could really live and work. Director Graham had decided she would be strictly an analyst for the time being, and that she would stay put on Catalina Island. It was too much of a risk for her to be seen around Langley, even if her appearance had changed.

She maintained her part-time job at Catalina Computers as part of her cover. "At least it's better than working at Wienerlicious," she had said. Being in a suite, she had also gotten herself a treadmill, so she could run in peace and quiet without being stopped on the street with computer questions by people who had gotten to know her as the island's resident tech geek.

Beth had the Channel 4 news on, but the volume was low. However, when she saw Chuck's face pop up on the television screen, she hit the emergency stop button on the treadmill and quickly turned up the volume.

"…industry newcomer Charles Bartowski wrote the game, called _Mindnode_," morning anchor Jennifer Bjorklund was saying. "The game itself has a fascinating premise – an average individual inadvertently downloads a massive government database into his brain, and two government agents are sent in to both protect him and utilize the information in his mind."

"Real original premise, Chuck," Beth said to herself – and she actually laughed.

That she laughed actually shocked her. She hadn't laughed at anything that involved Chuck since before that day on the Vincent Thomas Bridge.

"The game was developed by video game giant Electronic Arts," Bjorklund continued. "The action scenes, all set in Los Angeles, have a degree of realism that surpasses even the latest installment in Rockstar's _Grand Theft Auto_ series. The characters were designed by Bartowski himself, and are voiced by actors Lee Pace, Jewel Staite, and Gareth Lloyd-Davies."

A screenshot appeared on the television – and Beth's jaw dropped. She grabbed the TiVo remote and hit pause, freezing the image on the screen.

"How the hell..." she whispered, approaching the big screen plasma television. She looked closely at the three characters. There was the guy in the Nerd Herd uniform, who had clearly been designed based on Chuck's appearance, the guy in the black suit, clearly designed based on Casey's appearance…

And then there was the female character. Obviously, Chuck would've based the female character on Sarah Walker, but Beth would've thought that the character would have long blonde hair and blue eyes.

But no. The character had short red hair, and green eyes. In fact, she was the spitting image of Beth Reynolds. "There's no possible way he could've known," Beth breathed. "I KNOW he thinks I'm dead!"

Grabbing her cell phone, she dialed a number. "This is Graham, secure," she heard a moment later.

"Reynolds, secure," she replied. "Have you seen the images from _Mindnode_?"

She heard Director Graham chuckle. "I figured you might be curious about that," he replied. "He has no idea that you look like that now. I spoke with Major Casey, passing my question off as curiosity as to why the character didn't look like Sarah Walker. He said that Bartowski's justification was in two parts.

"Part one is that the memory was simply too painful for him to design a character based on you. Part two was that Bartowski didn't particularly want to share the memory of you with anybody else – he wanted to keep you to himself."

Beth's breath caught in her throat. "Oh," she breathed.

Graham sighed. "You should've just said how you felt about him," he said quietly. "I could've helped you work something out with him. You wouldn't have had to go through all this."

Beth laughed bitterly. "You and I both know that never would've worked," she replied. "General Beckman would've shot anything down. For all I know, she would've put out a sanction on both Chuck and me."

Graham was quiet for a moment. "You're probably right," he finally said. "Was there anything else?"

"No, sir," she replied.

"Alright. Keep me updated on that work on the Fulcrum files." And he disconnected.

Beth sighed. She had been doing that a lot lately. Picking up the TiVo remote, she hit play, and the newscast resumed.

"The characters names are Rick McCune, Tara Pierce, and Robert Johnson," Bjorklund explained. "Respectively, they are an employee of Best Buy's Geek Squad, a CIA Agent, and a British M:I-6 agent.

"The premiere party is being held tonight at the opulent Neptune home of Balboa County Supervisor Logan Echolls. It's expected to be a star-studded event. Bartowski himself will be in attendance, along with co-developer Morgan Grimes."

* * *

**6:00 P.M.**

**Neptune, California**

Ellie Bartowski's Pontiac G6 pulled up in the driveway of Logan Echolls' enormous home. Ellie wasn't herself in the car – she had said that there was no way they were going to the party in Veronica's LeBaron, and had given an emphatic "HELL NO" to going in Chuck's Herder.

"Holy crap," Morgan uttered as they pulled up in front of the house. "This is insane."

Chuck shrugged. "I've been down in the area before for Nerd Herd calls," he explained. "Just never been here."

Veronica turned to Chuck. "Chuck… do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"With Morgan in the car?" Chuck replied cheekily. "I don't know if he can handle it."

Morgan rolled his eyes. "Ask him the question, Veronica."

"Why do you still work at the Buy More? You're worth enough that you don't have to now. You're going to get royalties and percentages like you wouldn't believe off the game, and anything that gets developed off of it."

Chuck thought about it for a moment. "I… I really don't know," he finally replied. "I guess, it's familiar, it's comforting… and well, I just feel like if I leave the Buy More, it'll be like I'm partly leaving her behind."

Veronica and Morgan exchanged a glance. They both know exactly who Chuck was talking about when he said "her". "Morgan, do you mind if Chuck and I talk for a moment?" Veronica asked.

"Not at all," Morgan replied, quickly bailing.

"Let me rephrase the question, Chuck," Veronica said after the door had shut. "You're twenty-two credits short of your bachelor's degree in computer engineering. You have been for five years. Why are you still at the Buy More?"

Chuck shook his head. "I guess I just didn't feel like finishing my degree after getting expelled from Stanford," he said quietly. "I didn't want to risk re-opening any old wounds."

Veronica sighed. "That's fine, Chuck, but you know what? You're an adult. That's the kind of thing where you take a semester off, maybe a year, and then you enroll at CSUN, or UCLA, and you finish your degree. You can't spend the rest of your life living in adolescent-land."

He shrugged. "Why not, though? It's like you said – I'm a successful video game writer now. I'm going to make plenty of money. And it's not like you have any room to talk – you dropped out of Hearst after, what, three semesters? I mean, yeah, so you're an FBI agent now. And?"

She narrowed her eyes. That remark stung. "I'm just going to ignore that last bit for now," she said through clenched teeth. "The reason you can't spend the rest of your life as a teenager is because if you do, you'll end up like the people who live here in Neptune, and I can't stand the thought of seeing you like that."

Chuck looked her in the eyes. "I don't understand what the problem with ending up like the people here is," he replied. "And how can you really talk about them like that? After all, aren't you friends with Logan Echolls?"

Veronica rolled her eyes. "He's… different. He's a good person, if somewhat… unbalanced. The rest of the people here are assholes and losers."

"Seems to me like the assholes and losers have something going for them," Chuck replied. With that, he opened the driver's door of the car and got out.

"Goddammit," Veronica hissed to herself, getting out of the car. She had to run to catch up to Chuck, who was already a fair distance away from her.

She caught up to him just as they reached the front door. The doorman opened it for them, and as they stepped inside, an announcer standing at a lectern called off their names.

"Veronica Janel Mars, of Neptune, accompanied by Charles Irving Bartowski, of Santa Monica!"

"The man of the hour!" called a voice from across the room, and that was followed by a spontaneous burst of applause. Chuck turned red, but smiled and nodded his head in acknowledgment.

The source of the voice quickly made its way to Chuck. "So you're Chuck Bartowski, Nerd Herder and video game creator extraordinaire."

"And you're Logan Echolls, youngest county supervisor in the history of Balboa County," Chuck replied. "Exactly how the hell did that happen?"

"Well," Logan replied, "your girlfriend here kind of went on a reign of terror that ended up with a large number of Neptune's finest either dead or on the lam."

Chuck held up a hand. "Wait, Veronica's not my girlfriend."

Logan cocked an eyebrow. "Why the hell not?"

Veronica looked from Chuck to Logan and back again. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to go detestosterone myself," she said, rolling her eyes.

As she walked away, Logan looked after her. "Seriously. You showed up with her, but she's not your girlfriend?"

"Nope," Chuck replied, shaking his head. "She's just a friend. On another topic, I have to ask what it's like to basically be the mayor of the 90909 at your age."

Logan nodded. "It's intimidating," he said. "All the people here – they've known me since I was born. I grew up here. They think they've got all this dirt they can hold over me, when really, it turns out that I was one of the most spic-and-span people in the neighborhood. But seriously, dude. I've seen you and Veronica interacting with each other for all of fifteen seconds, and I can tell that she likes you. And your excuse is…"

Chuck sighed. "I just don't know if I can deal with dating right now," he replied quietly.

"Bad breakup?"

"Not really," Chuck said, hoping Logan would take the hint and end that particular line of questioning.

"How long's it been?"

"Seven months."

Logan raised his other eyebrow. "Seven months? Come on, man, maybe it's time to move on."

Chuck put a hand to his forehead. "No, you don't understand."

"What's there to understand?" Logan asked. "You've been out of the relationship for seven months. You clearly need to get some, and from what I can see, it's willing and waiting."

Chuck studied Logan Echolls for a long moment, and finally said, "Do you remember the Vincent Thomas Bridge jumper, back at the end of January?"

"Of course," Logan replied. "Hard to forget. We all thought it was a real waste down here – I mean, come on, a hot blonde with a Porsche 911?"

Chuck winced. "Yeah, Sarah Walker," he said softly. "She was my girlfriend."

Logan's eyes went wide. "Oh, man," he groaned. "Oh, Jesus Christ. Goddammit. I'm an ass. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Chuck replied, shaking his head. "It's just… I mean, much as I hate to admit it, I think I'm still in love with her, and Veronica just reminds me SO MUCH of her sometimes…"

Logan nodded, a grim smile crossing his face. "Totally understand you there, man," he replied. "You remember the Lilly Kane murder, five years back?"

"Of course," Chuck replied. "Veronica's dad was the investigating officer, thought the girl's dad did it, except it turned out –"

He stopped himself. "Shit," he muttered. "I do believe that I'm now the one suffering from foot-in-mouth."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, don't worry about it," he replied. "Everybody knows, it was my father, the almighty actor Aaron Echolls who killed her. What not as many people know is that I was Lilly's boyfriend. I was in love with her for a long time after it happened."

"Gotcha," Chuck mused. "So what changed that?"

"Veronica did," Logan admitted. "I fell in love with her. Problem is, I haven't been able to fall back out."

"Oh," Chuck replied. "Um, that's somewhat awkward."

"Nah," Logan said. "It's not gonna go anywhere. We determined that a long time ago. Seriously, though, if she likes you, you really ought to go for it. She's an incredible woman."

Chuck nodded. "I know. And believe me, the thought has crossed my mind."

But the fact of the matter was, with the one year anniversary of the day Chuck had met Sarah coming up, she was on his mind more than ever.

This was not a good time to be thinking about a new relationship.


	7. Don't Be There

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 7: Don't Be There**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski

* * *

**2:30 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Thursday, September 25th, 2008**

**Forest Lawn Memorial Cemetery**

**Los Angeles, California**

Raindrops spattered the windshield of the Aston Martin as it headed eastbound on the Ventura Freeway. The fact that they were in an Aston Martin DB-7 was itself absurd.

However, two weeks earlier, a little birdie named Bryce Larkin had put a bug into Veronica Mars' ear that as she had been seconded to the NSA as Chuck's handler, she no longer had to drive a crappy Chrysler LeBaron.

"But it's my first car!" Veronica protested. "I traded in a much nicer car to get it back!"

Bryce then proceeded to explain that when he meant she could get a new car, he was talking a new car in the neighborhood of, oh, say, a Dodge Viper – if she really wanted to stick with the Chrysler products.

Veronica went to get herself a new spy car. And she took Chuck with her.

She originally wanted a Porsche 911 – black. Chuck had said he didn't think that was the right car for her. She insisted, said it was a car she'd wanted ever since she was a kid in Neptune.

Eventually, Chuck had flown off the handle. He snapped, and yelled at her, telling her that the 911 was the car Sarah used to drive, and he wasn't going to ride in one that wasn't being driven by Sarah Walker.

Veronica ended up buying the Aston Martin because it looked cool, and because it was the car James Bond drove. Chuck tried to ignore that factor, simply because that's kind of how he'd thought of Sarah – as the female James Bond.

His brain was wracked with a million thoughts as the car drew closer and closer to Forest Lawn Memorial Cemetery. The last time he'd set foot on the grounds was on February 28th – the day of Sarah's memorial service.

Everybody else had been to the headstone since then – Casey, Bryce, Carina, Ellie, Devon, even Morgan. But for some reason, Chuck hadn't been able to bring himself to go back.

Today, though – today was different. It was on this day in 2007 – one year before – that he had first met Sarah Walker.

He couldn't allow himself to go past this date without visiting the grave. He had to go, had to visit the only woman who he'd ever allowed himself to love with no reservations.

Chuck shuddered as Veronica headed off the freeway. They were close – so close.

She reached the end of the ramp, and turned right onto Forest Lawn Drive. The road ran along the edge of the cemetery. Chuck looked past Veronica out the driver's window as they drove past.

The contrast to the last time he had been here was marked. Back on February 28th, the day had had a light overcast – a marine layer that had finally been broken through. The trees, the plants, even the rye grass had all been a brilliant green.

Today, though, it was raining. Gray, dreary clouds filled the skies. And ironically, the vegetation had suffered through the summer from hell – drought, combined with fires in Griffith Park, had exposed it all to sun, smoke, fire retardant, heat. The cemetery truly looked like a place of death.

Veronica took a left turn onto Memorial Drive and kept going a little further. "It's right up here," Chuck said quietly.

A moment later, she drew the car to a stop. Chuck unbuckled his seatbelt and prepared to get out. "Do you want me to come with you?" Veronica asked gently.

Chuck shook his head and opened the door. Several drops of rain spattered on the arm of his jacket as he began to get out. "Do you at least want to take the umbrella?" she asked.

Chuck shook his head again. He closed the door and started walking across the drenched, scorched grass toward the grave of Sarah Walker.

When he reached the gravesite, he was astonished. The headstone was surrounded in flowers. Each bouquet had a card attached. One was from Morgan. Another from Ellie and Devon. There was one from Bryce, one from Casey. Casey's was made up of red, white, and blue flowers and had a tiny plastic handgun holding it together.

Chuck laughed at the absurdity of Casey's bouquet, but it sounded hollow. He stood there for a moment, just looking down at the headstone.

It looked exactly the same as it had seven months beforehand. It still said, "Sarah Walker, June 14, 1982 – January 30, 2008, Leader, Lifesaver, Loving Friend". Nobody had touched it, nobody had vandalized it – although Chuck was pretty sure that if somebody had, John Casey would've slowly and painfully dismembered that individual.

"Hi," he finally said. "I… I'm sorry I haven't visited. It's been, well, busy."

Chuck sighed. This was ridiculous. He was talking to a gravestone, and yet he found himself nervous, as if he was really seeing Sarah for the first time in seven months.

"I don't know if you can hear me," he continued. "I don't know if there's a heaven, but you've got me really hoping that there is. You know, it's ironic that of all things, your death would get me back to church – hoping that I can find my way back to you someday."

He wiped the rain from his forehead. "I sold my first video game a little while back," he said. "Not a very original premise – it's about this computer geek who gets a massive government database accidentally stuck in his head."

In his mind's eye, Chuck could see how Sarah would react – she'd shake her head and give him a sort of half-laugh, but she'd have this twinkle in her eyes that it always filled him with utter joy to see. "I'm sure you'd think it's ridiculous," he went on, "but I had to design the female character so that she didn't look like you. I – I just didn't want to share you with anybody else. I know, it's selfish, but I had so little time with you – I just, I can't give any of that away."

He leaned his head back – that was a mistake. Chuck rapidly brought his head back down, wiping the rain out of his eyes – or was it tears? A combination of the two?

He wasn't sure. "They finally gave me a new handler," he said. "I moved out of the apartment complex, and it just would've looked weird if Casey had followed me to my new place, so they sent this FBI agent. She actually reminds me a lot of you – just, like, eight inches shorter."

Chuck smiled. "The most ridiculous part of it is when I hug her – and yes, I hug her, she's my friend. You know, when I used to hug you, your head fit perfectly right under my chin. I loved that. Veronica, on the other hand – she barely comes up to the middle of my chest.

"That's her name, Veronica Mars," Chuck continued. "She's a really nice girl, and a fantastic friend… but she just doesn't… I don't know. I'm always happy to see her, but whenever I used to see you, it made the world seem like it was perfect.

"By the way," he said, "your Porsche – I've still got it. Devon has this storage unit out in Arcadia, where he keeps this beautiful Shelby Mustang, and it was big enough for two cars. It's there. It's been there since… well, since that day. I've never driven it, though. I don't know if I ever will – I just wouldn't feel right, being in that car without you in it."

He smiled. "It's really too bad you're not going to be around this weekend – Ellie and Devon are tying the knot on Saturday. You should see Ellie's dress – it's unbelievable."

Chuck's smile got a little bigger. "I'm gonna let you in on a little secret," he said with a laugh. "Captain Awesome let himself be a little more awesome than he should've been. See, I'm gonna be an uncle somewhere around Easter or so, and that's only about, well, six and a half months after the wedding."

He shook his head. "Ellie isn't showing yet, and she doesn't know that I know, but I saw the test, and then Devon got drunk and spilled the whole thing to me and Casey."

He blew out his breath slowly. "You know, it was a year ago today that we met for the first time. You came into the Buy More with your broken phone – you never told me just what happened to it, by the way, although I wouldn't be surprised if you'd screwed it up on some big spy mission."

Chuck brought his hands to his face, slowly steepling them over his mouth. "That red leather jacket, those Abercrombie jeans – yes, I knew they were Abercrombie jeans – I loved it when you wore that combination. I mean, I always thought you were beautiful, but that combination – there was just something so incredibly sexy about it."

He smiled again. "Although, there is something to be said for that outfit you wore on our first 'date' – you know, the one that you were able to hide a small arsenal inside of?"

Chuck sighed. "Hell of a first date that was, huh? I mean, you take down an NSA strike team, then we end up getting chased through downtown Los Angeles by Casey? I mean, for God's sake, the night ended with me downloading a porn virus to a laptop to disable a bomb. Who does that?!"

He crouched down, resting his hand on the top of the headstone. "Sometimes, I get this feeling like you're still alive," he said. "I don't know why, because I know better. You're gone."

Chuck shook his head, trying to ignore the tears that were building in his eyes. "But sometimes, sometimes I just feel like you're standing behind me. I feel like you're looking at me from across the room. I feel like I'm going to walk into the Wienerlicious, and you're going to be there, wearing that ridiculous outfit."

The tears started to flow freely down his cheeks. "I just wish I knew why you'd done it," he said. "You didn't have to do it. Whatever was wrong, all you had to do was tell me. I know, I know, you were the big, bad CIA agent, but all you had to do was tell me what was wrong. I would've fixed it. I would've done anything for you."

That was what broke the dam, as a sob escaped from his chest. He lost it then, falling to his knees. As the sobs came, he buried his head underneath his arms, hoping that it would all be a lie, a dream that he could wake up from.

He was barely aware of Veronica running across the cemetery, calling his name. When she crouched down next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, he latched onto her as though he were a drowning man and she were a life preserver.

Chuck buried his head in her chest and sobbed for nearly ten minutes. When he finally stopped, he was drained of energy. His head drooped, his eyes aimed at the ground.

"Come on," Veronica said quietly. "Let's get out of the rain, okay?"

He didn't say anything, just quietly acquiesced. He slowly stood to his feet as she slipped her hand into his and led him away from the gravesite.

* * *

**2:45 P.M.**

**The Avalon Hotel**

**Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California**

The same rainstorm that was drenching Los Angeles was also causing it to be a gloomy day on Catalina Island. Everybody was inside, cursing the rainstorm.

Everybody except for one person.

Beth Reynolds sat at her computer. She was unable to move, transfixed by what she had just seen.

Against Director Graham's advice, she had convinced a CIA tech to set her up with a little program that would pop up a notice on her MacBook whenever the motion detector on the surveillance camera at Forest Lawn Cemetery was activated. If somebody visited the gravesite of Sarah Walker, Beth would know about it.

It rarely activated, and when it did, it was almost always the groundskeeper. Occasionally, she saw Morgan, or Casey, or Ellie come by to leave a bouquet.

But this time, it had been Chuck. Beth had sat there, unable to tear her eyes away, as he stood there and talked to Sarah's headstone.

She had heard every word that Chuck said. She watched, helpless, as he broke down, his body wracked with grief. She watched with sadness, and yes, a little bit of jealousy as Veronica Mars held Chuck, comforted him, and led him away.

Five minutes after Chuck had left the gravesite, Beth still sat there, eyes fixed on the computer. Finally, she broke from her reverie.

She gently closed the computer, stood, and wandered into the bedroom. She lay down on the king size bed, listening to the storm lash the hotel.

As the rain fell on Southern California, Beth Reynolds softly cried herself to sleep.


	8. Only Hope

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 8: Only Hope**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb – Sarah Lancaster  
Devon Woodcomb – Ryan McPartlin  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Jeff Barnes – Scott Krinsky  
Lester Patel – Vik Sahay  
Spy World owner – Kevin Smith  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Logan Echolls – Jason Dohring

* * *

Ellie Bartowski and Devon Woodcomb got married on Saturday, September 27th, at First Lutheran Church of Northridge. It was a beautiful ceremony. Just as Chuck had said, Ellie wasn't showing yet, so nobody knew that underneath her Marc Jacobs designed wedding gown, there was a just barely visible bump on her abdomen.

There were far more people at the ceremony itself than Ellie had expected. Among them were a group of college-aged girls who Ellie had babysat for when she was in junior high. To her surprise and delight, they had, with Devon, worked out a song to sing at the wedding.

As Chuck stood behind Devon and to his right, he tried not to think too much about the song, but it penetrated through to the center of his conscience.

_There's a song that's inside of my soul… it's the one that I've tried to write over and over again.  
I'm awake in the infinite cold, but you sing to me over and over again._

_

* * *

  
_

A few days the wedding, General Beckman decided that it was looking a little weird for Veronica to just be floating around Los Angeles without a job. And so, like Sarah Walker before her, she arranged for Veronica to work at the Wienerlicious at the Empire Plaza – someplace where she could easily keep an eye on Chuck.

Halfway through Veronica's first shift at Wienerlicious, she came storming into the Buy More, grabbed Chuck by the arm, and dragged him into the home theatre room. "I swear to God, that guy has probably gotten more in the home theatre room than Hugh Hefner gets at the Playboy Mansion," Jeff muttered as he watched the curtains slide shut.

Lester shook his head. "You're disgusting sometimes, you know that?"

Inside the home theatre room, Veronica looked at Chuck with an evil glare. "No," she said, indicating her outfit. "Not just 'No', but HELL NO."

It was all Chuck could do to not start laughing. "I take it you're not a big fan of the Wienerlicious?"

"I am NOT a big fan of the Wienerlicious," Veronica growled.

"You gotta have a job," Chuck replied. "I have no control over that."

"Fine," she replied. "Come with me, we're going job hunting."

And with that, Chuck had been unceremoniously dragged from the Buy More out into Empire Plaza. "Uh, what are you doing?" he asked once they were outside.

"I'm going to go along the way here, look at every single place that has a 'Help Wanted' sign, and see what it's all about," Veronica replied.

By the time they reached the other end of the plaza – nearly half a mile away - Veronica had collected applications from Target, Sports Authority, Barnes & Noble, and the Hampton Inn. Finally, they reached the last store – a little tiny place called "Spy World."

"Manager wanted," the sign in the window said.

Veronica's eyes lit up. "Oh, I like the looks of this!" she said gleefully.

Chuck dragged himself inside behind her. "Hi, I understand you're looking for a manager?" she perkily asked the man behind the counter.

"Yeah, I'm the owner," he replied. "You got any background in this kind of thing?"

She nodded, her blonde pigtails bouncing in a very distracting fashion. "I'm a licensed private investigator. Oh, and I'm the person who solved the Lilly Kane murder case."

The owner's eyes went wide. "No shit?!" Veronica nodded, a big smile on her face. "When can you start?"

_So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray  
To be only yours, I pray to be only yours – I know now, you're my only hope._

_

* * *

  
_

Shortly before Christmas, Chuck made two very important decisions.

The first regarded his car. For the longest time, he had been perfectly content to drive around the Herder, but his ego – and his bulging wallet – had finally gotten the better of him. And so, one day, he showed up at the Buy More driving a royal blue Corvette ZO-6.

The first two people who realized that it belonged to him were Casey and Morgan. They only realized this because as they sat at Victory and Burbank in the Crown Vic that Casey had bought off of Budget Car Rental six months prior, Chuck pulled up next to them.

He rolled down the window. "Wanna race, bitches?"

Casey glared daggers. "Way to keep a low profile there, bucko," he shot back.

Chuck and Casey both revved their engines. In reality, there wasn't much displacement or horsepower difference between the two – the Crown Vic just weighed about a thousand pounds more than the Corvette.

However, in this case, Casey's automatic transmission turned out to have a rare advantage. When the light turned green, he hit the gas and the Crown Vic roared off, northbound on Victory. Chuck, on the other and, didn't pop the clutch quite right, and the Corvette stalled. He was left in a cloud of Casey's tire smoke.

Two minutes later, when he parked, Casey and Morgan were getting out of the Crown Vic. "Beautiful car, Bartowski," Casey cracked. "Maybe now you learn how to drive it."

The second decision was regarding his cover relationship with Veronica Mars. He finally admitted that them continuing to be just "friends" and yet spend so much time together was simply untenable. "Don't get me wrong," he told her, "I like being your friend… I just don't think we can convincingly sell it any more without people getting suspicious."

And so began their cover relationship. Everybody thought it was real – except for Casey, who knew better. All the people Chuck knew were quite happy that he was allowing himself to live again – nearly eleven months after Sarah's death.

The difference, though, between Chuck's cover relationship with Veronica and the one he had had with Sarah was that in the one with Sarah, Chuck had made his feelings for her quite clear, and she had bottled hers up, right up until the end. In the one with Veronica, it was exactly the opposite – Veronica made it quite clear that she was definitely interested in Chuck, and while he realized he was beginning to have genuine feelings for her, he just didn't feel like he was ready to go there yet, and so bottled the feelings away.

_Sing to me the song of the stars, of your galaxy dancing and laughing and laughing again.  
When it feels like my dreams are so far, sing to me of the plans that you have for me over again._

_

* * *

  
_

There was nothing lonelier than celebrating Christmas alone. Oh, sure, there were plenty of places for her to go on Catalina Island on Christmas Day – a church in the morning, a restaurant for Christmas dinner – but at the close of the day, it was just Beth Reynolds, a bottle of pinot grigio, and the complete _Friends _DVD collection in a hotel suite.

A detached part of her mind was somewhat disturbed by the presence of the pinot grigio. She had started drinking again after seeing Chuck visit the gravesite back in September. Oh, sure, she kept it mostly under control, but she was terrified of losing control and reverting back to what she had become in college.

She couldn't afford to become a practicing alcoholic again. That had led to misfortune, to despair, to waking up naked between a man and another woman with no memory of how she had gotten there.

But more frightening than that spectre was the thought that she might get drunk and call Chuck. A drunk dial to him would be an unmitigated disaster. It would mean she would truly become a fugivite, and that was not something she was ready to do.

And so, she watched her alcohol intake very carefully. The bottle of pinot grigio would be her limit for Christmas Day. In fact, it was all she had in the hotel suite.

As Beth sat on the bed, watching _Friends_, eating Wheat Thins and drinking wine, she noticed the surveillance indicator blink on the MacBook. Curious as to who would be visiting the grave at 9:30 in the evening on Christmas, she unsteadily rose from the bed and crossed to the desk.

She pulled up RealPlayer and turned on the streaming video feed. It turned out to be John Casey. He had a Christmas wreath in his hands, which he gently laid at the base of the headstone.

"Merry Christmas, Walker," he said. "Um… this is a little weird, talking to you like you're actually here, but I needed to come here."

He sighed. "I've got your gun. You know, the Marine Recon Colt M1911? It's a beautiful weapon. I've carried it every day since you left us – it seemed like a fitting tribute."

Beth smiled. That definitely seemed like the type of thing Casey would do.

"It's funny about Bartowski. He's changed… and yet, he hasn't. He's still the same naïve, moron goofball that you and I met last fall… but, at the same time, he's gotten more confident, more sure of himself – and more closed off.

"He's just not as accessible as he was before you left. He doesn't get as easily rattled, but he just seems to have lost a little bit of his humanity. And, don't get me wrong, he's still the good guy he's always been. We practically had to twist his arm to get him to use a little of his money on himself and buy a Corvette.

"But here's the funny thing. He and Mars finally struck up a cover relationship. She really likes him, a lot, and I can tell that he likes her right back, but he refuses to allow it to go anywhere. He's bottling it up so that she doesn't get hurt when it falls apart. Sound familiar?"

Beth's eyes widened. She swallowed the lump forming in her throat. It sounded familiar, all right. Painfully familiar. And the green-eyed monster was certainly rearing its ugly head within her.

"Anyway, that's all, I guess. I better go before the groundskeepers see me talking to a headstone and have me hauled off to the loony bin.

"Merry Christmas."

_And I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray, to be only yours,  
I pray, to be only yours, I know now, you're my only hope_.

* * *

**11:30 P.M., Pacific Standard Time**

**January 30th, 2009**

**San Pedro, California**

Chuck had been aimlessly driving the Corvette for quite a while. He'd been to Sarah's headstone earlier, left flowers there. Then he'd gone to the Buy More for no real reason, and then he'd gone to downtown Los Angeles and driven past the hotel Sarah used to live in.

He hadn't answered the phone for the past three hours, except when John Casey had called. Casey had explained that Veronica and Ellie were both getting rather concerned about the fact that he hadn't picked up the phone since just after 8:00. Chuck had replied that he was fine, he just needed to be alone and be left alone for a while.

Casey told him that he understood, and that he'd see if he could call off the attack dogs for the night.

But now, here Chuck was. It was nearly midnight, and he had somehow found himself in the South Bay. He drove down the coast for a little while, along Palos Verdes Drive, until it turned into Twenty-Fifth Street. From Twenty-Fifth, he went down Western Avenue, back to the coast, to Paseo Del Mar.

He continued aimlessly along Paseo Del Mar until it ended at Pacific Avenue. He turned left and headed back north. He drove past Fort MacArthur, up into the City of San Pedro –

And then he saw it, the lights on his right. The Vincent Thomas Bridge.

Curious, he took a right on O'Farrell Street, and hopped over to Harbor Boulevard. He took a left on Harbor, and then took the cloverleaf onto Highway 47. A moment later, he found himself on the practically deserted highway out to Terminal Island.

Chuck saw the sign for the Vincent Thomas Bridge pass overhead, and then he saw the little blue signs – the ones for the Southern California Suicide Hotline. He shook his head.

A moment later, though, he let his speed begin to drop. Nobody was behind him to object, and he coasted to a stop as the bridge reached the end of the Catalina Terminal – the same place where Sarah's Porsche had come to a stop.

Turning on the hazard lights, Chuck climbed out of the Corvette. It was cold out – nearly midnight in January. The air was thick with the smell of salt and diesel exhaust.

He walked to the guardrail, and looked out onto the blackness of Long Beach Harbor. Gingerly, he lifted a foot over the guardrail, and holding onto the wires of the bridge, stepped out onto the strip of concrete on the other side of the guardrail.

Chuck felt a thrill of terror looking down at the blackness below. _I wonder if this is how it felt for Sarah, doing this in broad daylight_, he thought.

He had no idea how long he'd stood there for when he heard the voice behind him. "What are you doing, Chuck?"

Chuck turned around, and came face to face with Logan Echolls. The Balboa County supervisor's Jeep Wrangler was parked behind Chuck's Corvette. "I don't know," he admitted. "I don't want to die… but I just don't know what to live for anymore."

Then he looked at Logan curiously. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

Logan shrugged. "I don't know. About forty minutes ago, I just got this feeling that I needed to drive up to the Vincent Thomas Bridge. Looks like that feeling was right."

Chuck shrugged. "Listen," Logan continued. "This is not something you want to do. I know. My mom jumped off the Coronado Bridge. I almost jumped off it. It's just not worth it. Besides which, I know for a fact that there is a certain individual who will be devastated if you do."

Chuck nodded. "I know," he said quietly.

"Then you better get your ass back on this bridge, because if you break her heart, I will dig you up out of your grave and kick your ass to hell," Logan Echolls informed him.

Chuck smiled. "Alright, I'm coming."

_I give you my apathy, I'm giving you all of me. I want your symphony,  
Singing in all that I am – at the top of my lungs, I'm giving it back!_

_

* * *

  
_

Veronica Mars was worried sick about Chuck Bartowski. He hadn't answered his phone for nearly five hours, and despite the call from John Casey three hours earlier telling her not to worry – she was still worrying.

She had practically taken to pacing the room when her phone rang. She scooped it up anxiously – to see that Logan Echolls was calling.

"Logan?" she said curiously, answering the phone.

"Hey, Veronica," he replied. "Listen. You can stop worrying about Chuck Bartowski. He's fine."

She narrowed her eyes. "How… the hell?"

Veronica could almost hear him smile. "I just know you too well." And then he hung up.

A moment later, there was a knock on her door. Frowning, she opened it – and Chuck Bartowski stood in front of her.

"I think your apartment's on the next floor up," she said, smiling nonetheless.

"I know," he said quietly. "Look, I'm sorry. I've been brushing you off for the last three months. I can't do that any longer. It's what Sarah did to me, and I'm not going to let everything get bottled up like she did.

"I can't do this on my own," Chuck continued. "But I think… if you were by my side… I'd be okay."

Veronica's heart leapt. "Really?"

Chuck smiled and nodded. "Really."

_So I lay my head back down, and I lift my hands and pray to be only yours, I pray,  
To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours, I know now you're my only hope._


	9. Let That Be Enough

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 9: Let That Be Enough**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Jeff Barnes – Scott Krinsky  
Lester Patel – Vik Sahay  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Security Guard Lucas – Terry Crews  
Big Mike Tucker – Mark Christopher Lawrence  
Carina Hansen – Mini Anden  
Fred Unger – himself

* * *

Chuck Bartowski sat by himself in the Nerd Herd booth. It was yet another slow day at the Buy More – between Valentine's Day and Easter, there wasn't much call for tech stuff right at the moment. In days past, he might have just gone home, but since his promotion to assistant manager, that was no longer an option.

He was working on a evil-level Sudoku puzzle when an Outlook message popped up. _You have one new message from undisclosed sender_, it said.

Chuck narrowed his eyes. Curious, he clicked on it – and his eyes went wide when the subject popped up.

_Information regarding Sarah Walker_, the subject line read. Chuck's hand started to shake as he double-clicked on the subject line to open the e-mail.

The body of the e-mail simply said, _I have information regarding the whereabouts of Sarah Walker. Please click here to proceed_.

Chuck's heart felt like it had stopped as he slowly moved the mouse to the hyperlink. Hoping against all hope, he slowly depressed the mouse button.

Firefox popped up, a new tab opened. It went to one address, then redirected several times –

And finally stopped on a YouTube page. To Chuck's dismay, Rick Astley appeared and began singing "Never Gonna Give You Up."

"Seriously?!" he uttered in disbelief. "GODDAMMIT!"

Mouth set in a tight, thin line, he re-opened the e-mail and pulled up the edit view. He told Outlook to show him the header of the e-mail, and got its originating IP address.

Muttering to himself, Chuck pulled up a tracer program that he really wasn't supposed to have but that John Casey had been kind enough to provide him with. He entered the IP address into the program –

The e-mail had come from a computer in the repair cage, in the back of the store.

Eyes ablaze, muttering imprecations against whatever soon-to-be-dead bastard had done this, Chuck stormed toward the back of the store. He heard laughter as he entered the stock room.

And sure enough, there were Jeff and Lester, at a computer in the cage. They were oblivious to his presence as he walked up – they were too engrossed in watching, and re-watching what was clearly video from a camera set up to capture Chuck's reaction.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Chuck said in a low and deadly voice.

The two Nerd Herders both spun around, rather surprised to see him standing there. "Having fun, are we?" Chuck asked.

"Uh… not sure what you're talking about," Lester replied, trying to move to exit the cage. Chuck backed up into the doorway, blocking his exit.

"Let me see if I have this correct," Chuck mused. "On company time, you set up a fake e-mail account with a masked IP address, and used it to send me an e-mail that I thought would give me information about one of the most horrific events of my life, which turned out to just be you guys rickrolling me. On top of that, you used company equipment to carry this out and video record it. Does that sound about right?"

Jeff and Lester looked at each other, and then Jeff spoke. "Dude, it was just a joke."

"Fine," Chuck replied, his voice tight. "You can carry out your jokes elsewhere. You're both fired."

* * *

**7:00 P.M., Mountain Standard Time**

**Wednesday, March 4th, 2009**

**The Estate House, Scottsdale, Arizona**

"Wait, wait, back up," Veronica said in disbelief. "You fired them because they rickrolled you? Come on, Chuck, I've done that to all kinds of people!"

Chuck shook his head. "No, I fired them because they decided it would be fun to mess with my head, and use company time and equipment to do so."

"Okay," Veronica replied, apparently not convinced. "So what happened after that?"

* * *

"FIRED?!" Lester shouted. "You can't just fire us, Chuck!"

"California's an at-will employment state, Lester," Chuck shot back. "I can fire you at any time for any reason."

"This is bullshit!" Lester replied. "I will see your head roll over this, Bartowski."

"Whatever," Chuck said. "Right now, you're gonna get out of the store."

"What are you gonna do if I don't, Chuck?!"

Chuck just raised his eyebrow, then picked up the cage phone. He dialed 142.

"Buy More Security, this is Lucas."

"Lucas, hi. Chuck Bartowski. Listen, I'm back in the cage, and I need two former employees escorted from the store."

"Former employees?"

"Lester Patel and Jeff Barnes."

There was a pause on the other end. "Since when are Lester and Jeff former employees?"

"Since they got fired two minutes ago."

"Ooookay, Chuck," Lucas replied slowly. "I'll have an officer down there in a moment."

Lester looked at Chuck in disbelief. "You're gonna make us do a perp walk out of the store?"

Chuck shrugged. "It's either that or you can leave of your own volition." He turned his back and walked back out into the store. Lester and Jeff followed him, both looking shocked.

When they reached the Nerd Herd desk, Chuck held out his hand. "Your access badges, please."

Jeff slowly pulled his off and handed it to Chuck, but Lester stood his ground. He glared at Chuck for a moment, and then…

Moving quickly, he grabbed the microphone for the P.A. "Your attention, please," he spat out, rapid-fire. "My name is Lester Patel. I work at the Nerd Herd desk, and I have just been fired for rickrolling our assistant manager, CHARLES BARTOWSKI, who has absolutely no sense of humor."

Chuck narrowed his eyes and ripped the P.A. from Lester's hand. "No, that's wrong," he replied, the volume of his voice getting higher. "I'm firing you because you decided it would be funny to mess with my head and make me think you knew something about THE WOMAN I LOVED!"

Chuck spat out the last words with such force that Lester physically recoiled from him. "BADGE," Chuck growled, holding out his hand. Lester pulled off his badge and handed it to him. "Now get the FUCK OUT."

He watched with no small degree of satisfaction as Lester and Jeff scurried out of the store. He was so focused on them that he didn't even notice that Big Mike had walked up behind him.

"Bartowski," Big Mike said softly. Chuck spun around, startled. "My office, now."

Chuck hung his head and followed the store manager back to his office. "What can I do for you, Big Mike?" he asked quietly after the door had shut behind him.

Big Mike sat down at his desk, not saying a word. He pulled out a file folder and opened it. "When was the last time you took a vacation, Bartowski?"

"Um…" Chuck thought for a moment. "I'm really not sure."

"Try the fifth of never, Bartowski. You haven't taken a single vacation since you started working here almost six years ago. You didn't take one after your girlfriend died last year. And you know what happens when you don't take a vacation?"

"No, sir. What's that?"

"You end up flying off the handle and cussing out a former employee in the middle of the store. Now, I'm not saying you should unfire Jeff and Lester – hell, I'm glad to get rid of those two losers – but I do think it's time for you to take a few days off, get the hell out of Los Angeles, go somewhere with that new girlfriend of yours for some R&R, if you get what I mean."

* * *

"So it was Big Mike's idea for us to come to Scottsdale?" Veronica asked. "I'm confused."

"What?" Chuck replied. "No, it was my idea for us to come to Scottsdale. It was Big Mike's idea for me to take a vacation."

Veronica shook her head. "Right," she said. "Sorry, blonde moment."

"Either that, or it's a testament to the staying power of those cocktails you've been putting away," Chuck replied.

"Or, to the fact that I'm five foot one and weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet, perhaps?" Veronica replied with a giggle. "I have absolutely no alcohol tolerance."

Chuck rested his head on his right hand. "And yet you've had a margarita, a Long Island Iced Tea, and three mojitos."

She nodded with a smile. "Yep."

That's when Chuck heard somebody call his name. Puzzled, he looked up. Who would be calling his name –

"Oh, no," he groaned.

"What is it, Chuck?" Veronica asked.

"My worst nightmare," Chuck replied unhappily.

The source of the voice came sauntering up to Chuck and Veronica's table. "Why, hello there, sexy."

Chuck gritted his teeth. "Hello, Carina."

"Hi, Chuck," the DEA agent replied, flirtatiously as always. She slid into the booth next to Chuck, making sure to get as close to him as she could. "So, how's life?" she asked, gently brushing a curl off his forehead.

Chuck turned bright red, and Veronica's eyes flashed. "Excuse me, who the hell are you?" she asked.

"I'm Chuck's friend, Carina," she replied innocently. "Are you Chuck's little sister? So cute."

"I am his GIRLFRIEND," Veronica growled. "Kindly get your hands the hell off him."

"Oh, my, I'm SO sorry," Carina gasped, putting a hand to her mouth in mock horror. "Where ARE my manners?" And with that, she leaned in to Chuck, and gently kissed him on the cheek.

Veronica looked like she was about to explode. "Let me rephrase that," she hissed. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out her badge wallet, and let it fall open. "Special Agent Veronica Mars, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Still Chuck's girlfriend."

Carina rolled her eyes. "Oh, I can play too," she shot back, pulling out her own badge. "Special Agent Carina Hansen, Drug Enforcement Administration. Still gonna steal Chuck out from under your nose."

Veronica's right eye started to twitch. _Uh-oh_, thought Chuck. But before he could say anything, Veronica had reached back into her purse. Her hand came back out with a gun the size of a small field artillery piece.

Chuck's eyes went wide as the .44 caliber Desert Eagle came out, and time seemed to slow down as the gun swung up to point at Carina's head. Carina, with years of experience behind her, moved with cat-like reflexes. Her hand went behind her back, and came back out with her Walther P9.

"Okay, I think this is completely unnecessary," Chuck said, his voice shaking, as the two women stood across the table from one another, guns pointed at each other's foreheads. The restaurant had gone dead silent.

"Just put the guns away," he continued. "Veronica, you've had too much to drink. This isn't going to help anything."

"Hers goes away first," Veronica said, her eyes not leaving Carina's head.

"Not a chance in hell," Carina spat back.

Chuck sighed. How the hell was he going to get out of this?

Then he had a flash of inspiration. "Carina," he said quietly, "if you hope to ever get anything from me, you will put your gun away right now."

Carina's concentration wavered, and then her gun dropped. "That's playing dirty, Chuck," she complained as she tucked the gun back into her waistband.

With Carina's gun out of the picture, Veronica slowly lowered hers and put it away. "I think it's time for you to leave, Carina," Chuck said quietly.

"I think it's time for ALL of you to leave!" came a new voice.

Chuck looked over to the end of the table. A tall, skinny man with graying hair stood there, an outraged look on his face. "Who the hell are you?!" Veronica asked indignantly.

"I'm Fred Unger! I own this place! Get the hell out!"

Well, if the owner was telling them to get out, they really didn't have a choice. Carina exited the booth, and Chuck and Veronica followed in her wake.

Once they reached the outside of the restaurant, Carina turned to Chuck. "You know, of course, I'm going to hold you to what you said in there."

Chuck looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. "I never promised you anything," he said. "I just said that the only possible way anything might ever happen was if you put your gun away."

"Whatever you say, big boy," Carina replied with a devious smile. "When I come to collect, it's gonna blow your mind."

She sauntered off down the waterfront, purposefully exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked away. Chuck couldn't help but watch her perfectly-formed posterior in those incredibly tight jeans –

"Ow!" A sharp smack to the back of his head brought him back to reality.

"You want to explain what that was all about?" his dangerously inebriated girlfriend with a gun demanded.

Chuck sighed. "Carina was a… well, I guess a friend of Sarah's. She showed up back in the fall of 2007 on a mission with the DEA. We had to work with her, and she tried to seduce me then. She said she liked taking the things Sarah wanted, and I guess she has now extended that philosophy to you."

Veronica raised an eyebrow. "You wouldn't let her follow through on that, would you?"

Chuck shrugged. "If I was single, maybe…"

Veronica's eyes narrowed. "You're not single, bub."

"Then not a chance in hell," Chuck replied. "I like you too much to do something like that."

Veronica nodded – and then started walking away, in the direction of their hotel. "Wait!" Chuck said. "What's wrong?"

Veronica shook her head. "I don't know," she replied. "I guess, just that whole thing really made me angry… and, you know, you're clearly still not over Sarah."

Those words stopped Chuck in his tracks. "What?" His voice registered shock. "What are you talking about?"

Veronica turned to face him, a sad look on her face. "You fired two of your employees for pulling a silly prank, all because it had her name on it. That doesn't sound like you're over her to me."

Chuck sighed. "Veronica, listen," he said. "I miss her a great deal. She was my best friend, and it still hurts to not have her around. But I lo… uh, I like you a lot. I really want to make this work."

Veronica's eyes went wide. "What did you just say?"

Chuck closed his eyes and shook his head. "No… please don't. Just… please, accept what I said for what it's worth."

She nodded and smiled. "Alright," she said slowly. "I guess I can let that be enough."


	10. On Fire

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 10: On Fire**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Keith Mars – Enrico Colantoni  
Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer

* * *

_They tell you where you need to go  
They tell you when you need to leave  
They tell you what you need to know  
They tell you who you need to be_

Friday, March 6th. Sunny, but cold.

Four hundred days exactly since Sarah Walker had plunged from the Vincent Thomas Bridge into the frigid waters of Long Beach Harbor. Four hundred days since Chuck Bartowski's world had disintegrated in a split second.

Four hundred days that Elizabeth Lisa Reynolds had spent in exile on Catalina Island.

Eight months now she had been working as a low-key analyst for the CIA, since that day that Director Graham figured out exactly where she had gone and walked into the computer shop she worked at. She had since purchased the computer shop – with the CIA's help, of course.

But there was just something so unsatisfying about it all. Sure, Beth Reynolds knew computers inside and out. The problem was, she had Chuck Bartowski to thank for that – and every time she thought of him, she felt like she died a little more inside.

Right at the moment, though, she was on one of her rare trips to the mainland. The CIA had asked her to look into a rather suspicious group of people living down in Chula Vista. So, early that morning, Beth had gone down to the dock and gotten on board the San Diego ferry.

The small bag slung over her shoulder contained everything the modern, on-the-go spy needed – her MacBook, her iPhone, her digital camera, her Colt M1911A1 handgun. She smiled to herself at the ironic juxtaposition of high-tech and low-tech – and almost immediately, her smile faded again as she considered what Chuck might think of it.

* * *

_Everything inside you knows  
There's more than what you've heard  
There's so much more than empty conversations  
Filled with empty words_

"So, your dad is cool with his only child's boyfriend being a video game designer, right?" Chuck asked nervously. He was on his way to meet Keith Mars for the first time, and he never did well with meeting the parents.

It only made it worse that Keith was the sheriff of Balboa County.

Veronica smiled. "Chuck, his only child is an FBI agent. I think he'll consider you to be the voice of reason in my life."

"Well, thank God," Chuck replied with the slightest bit of sarcasm. "But me? The voice of reason? Come on, now. My 'conscience' is Morgan Grimes, for goodness' sake."

Veronica laughed. "No, Chuck, I think you misunderstand. You have to consider who my only two long-term boyfriends have been – a psychotic jackass and an uber-rich kidnapper. After them, you're a breath of fresh air."

Chuck allowed himself a bit of a smile – which almost immediately faded. "Wait. Your dad's a cop. That means he carries a gun. What's he going to think of the fact that I've never shot a real gun?"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Veronica replied. "After all, I can protect myself."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "After your attempted demonstration of firepower in the restaurant on Wednesday night, I don't doubt it one bit."

Veronica frowned. "That Carina bitch started it."

"What, are we in kindergarten now?"

* * *

_And you're on fire when he's near you  
You're on fire when he speaks  
You're on fire burning at these mysteries_

With time to kill, Beth headed down to the Gaslamp Quarter of San Diego. It was one of her favorite parts not just of the city, but of the entire state of California. She had gone there on a family vacation when she was a little girl – one of the few happy memories of her childhood.

She parked herself on the patio of the Dublin Square Irish Pub with a gigantic mug of coffee. Though she wouldn't have objected to having an authentic Irish Coffee at the pub, she had a strict rule against drinking when she was on assignment.

Hell, up until about four months ago, she had hardly drunk ANY alcohol in years. However, the stress of hiding away on Catalina Island had caused her to start drinking again – a LITTLE bit. More than once, she had asked herself if it was worth it.

But she knew that she couldn't go back. Though she thought that MAYBE Director Graham would let her, the NSA would kill her and hang her head on a pike outside of Fort Meade. It had perhaps not been the best decision she had ever made, but one she was going to have to live with.

Beth finished her coffee and left Dublin Square, heading down Fourth Avenue toward the waterfront. She loved the smell of the salt air coming in with the coastal breeze – a bit of a reminder of her old home, in Boston.

When she reached K Street, however, she saw something that made her heart sink again. The San Diego Convention Center sat less than a block away, with signs on the outside that proclaimed it to be the "Home of COMIC-CON!"

She bowed her head and blinked rapidly, trying to will the tears away. It had been at Comic-Con that Chuck had been introduced to his new handler – his new handler who, according to Director Graham, Chuck had started a relationship with.

A REAL relationship.

* * *

_Give me one more time around  
Give me one more chance to see  
Give me everything you are  
Give me one more chance to be near you…_

Chuck reluctantly followed Veronica up the steps into the apartment complex. Every step he took brought him that much closer to a law enforcement officer with a gun who also happened to be his girlfriend's father.

"Come ON, Chuck!" Veronica called. "My dad isn't that scary!"

Chuck sighed. "If you say so."

He jogged up the rest of the steps, reaching Veronica just before she put the key in the lock. She looked at Chuck, smiled, and shook her head.

"You'll be okay, Chuck," she said softly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss him.

He nodded. "Okay."

Veronica unlocked the door and pushed it open –

And a rapidly moving mass of fur came blasting through the door, knocking Chuck on his butt. Terrified, Chuck almost screamed like a little girl, but fortunately for him, the air had been knocked out of him when the pitbull knocked him over.

But – it wasn't attacking him. No, it was licking his face furiously.

"Wow!" Veronica exclaimed, not bothering to keep the laugh out of her voice. "Backup LOVES you!"

Chuck cringed. Backup's breath smelled horrible. "Well, could you get him off of me?"

* * *

'_Cause everything inside me looks like  
Everything I hate  
You are the hope I have for change  
You are the only chance I'll take_

Beth turned away from the waterfront. She didn't want to see the Convention Center.

Sighing again, she started walking east down K Street, toward Petco Park. Nobody was there right now – the Padres were in Arizona, for spring training.

Beth's dad had promised her for years that he'd take her to Phoenix for a week one year for the Cactus League. "We'll go see the Cubs," he had promised her. "The Cubs, and the Giants, and the White Sox, and the Rockies…"

But they had never gone. Now, her father was in a mental institution in Boston. Her mother had been dead for over seven years.

One day, she was going to go to Phoenix for that week in March. It just couldn't be with who she wanted it to be with.

Pulling her iPhone from her purse, Beth looked at it for a moment. _Bad idea_, her brain told her. _Put the phone away_.

But instead of putting the phone away, Beth entered a series of keystrokes that would block any caller ID. Then, she dialed a number that she had committed to memory. It wasn't stored in her phone. It COULDN'T be stored in her phone.

She heard it ring. Once, twice, three times…

* * *

_And I'm on fire when you're near me  
I'm on fire when you speak  
I'm on fire burning at these mysteries, these mysteries_

Backup backed away from Chuck, a happy grin on the pitbull's face as he panted. Chuck slowly pulled himself up off the concrete.

"You must be Chuck!" he heard a voice say from within. As Chuck's eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the apartment, he saw a man who was two or three inches shorter than him, about forty pounds heavier, and with a whole heck of a lot less hair.

"Yeah, I'm Chuck Bartowski, Sheriff Mars," Chuck replied, sticking out his hand.

Keith Mars' hand froze halfway to Chuck's, and he regarded the younger man curiously. "No," he said. "See, you don't look like somebody I might have to lock up someday. You can call me Keith. I don't ever want to hear you call me 'Sheriff' again."

Chuck smiled. "Yes, sir."

"No 'SIR' either!" Keith retorted, grinning and grasping Chuck's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You always made Logan and Duncan and Piz call you 'Sheriff'," Veronica grumped from the kitchen.

"I always figured I'd have to lock one if not all of them up," her father shot back. "I mean, look at them. Logan the bum-fight organizer, Duncan the kidnapper, Piz the underage drinker. What a group of ruffians and scoundrels."

That was when Chuck's phone rang. He pulled it out – _NO NUMBER AVAILABLE_, it said. He frowned at the phone.

"Can you excuse me a minute?" he said. "I'll be right back."

* * *

_I'm standing on the edge of me  
I'm standing on the edge  
Of everything I've never been before  
And I've been standing on the edge of me  
Standing on the edge_

The phone rang a fourth time. Beth was about to hit the end button –

"_Hello?_"

She froze. It was him.

Then Beth panicked. She felt like she was about to start hyperventilating. She brought a hand to her mouth. She couldn't say anything. Couldn't make any noise.

If she did, then she KNEW that Chuck would know it was her –

"_Hello?_"

Beth clenched her eyes shut, fighting away the tears that threatened to spring out. She gasped – and the noise was picked up by the phone.

"_Who is this?!_"

_IT'S SARAH!_ she wanted to scream. She wanted to tell him. She wanted him to know that she was alive, that she was in San Diego.

But she couldn't. If she was alive, then the CIA could use her against him again. That couldn't happen.

Beth willed herself to move her thumb to the end button and press it. The call ended – and the iPhone slid from her hand, dropping to the ground below.

It bounced, but didn't break. Beth bent over and put her hands on her knees, taking a moment to collect and calm herself.

She took a deep breath, and let it out again. Bending over further, she picked up the iPhone. She stood –

And ran smack into the chin of a man walking down K Street, talking on his own cell phone and not paying attention to where he was going. "Oh my God!" she exclaimed. "I am SO sorry!"

"Don't worry about it," he replied, rubbing his chin as he bent to pick up his cell phone. "It's not your fault – I wasn't watching where I was going."

Beth just about had a heart attack. She knew that voice. She knew that voice almost as well as her own – and she couldn't be around the source of that voice. That would be disaster.

She tried to run. She willed her feet to move, but they wouldn't go anywhere. He was standing up – oh God – oh no –

Bryce Larkin looked into Beth's eyes, and regarded her curiously for a moment. She steeled herself, waiting for the moment of recognition –

"Are you okay?" he asked.

She looked at him – and realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out slowly. "Yeah, I'm alright," she replied, letting her voice slip back into its old Boston accent.

He smiled. "I'm really sorry about that," he said. "I just wasn't watching where I was going. I should be more careful."

Beth shrugged. "These things happen."

"Yeah, I suppose that's true," Bryce replied. "Well, sorry again."

And with that, he headed away from Beth, down K Street.

After he turned the corner, she pulled out her phone again and hit redial. This time, the call went directly to voicemail.

"_Hi, you've reached Chuck Bartowski. I can't come to the phone right now, but if you'll leave your name, your phone number, and a brief message, I may or may not return your call. It mostly depends on whether or not I'm in the mood."_

His voicemail beeped, and she just stood there for a moment, breathing. Finally, she disconnected the call.

"Chuck… I'm so sorry…"

_And I'm on fire when you're near me  
I'm on fire when you speak  
Yeah, I'm on fire burning at these mysteries  
These mysteries… these mysteries…  
You're the mystery… you're the mystery._


	11. Dare You to Move

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 11: Dare You to Move**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb – Sarah Lancaster  
Devon Woodcomb – Ryan McPartlin  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Geraldo Cardoso da Silva – Miguel Varoni  
Bradley White – Andy Richter  
Vincent Torvalds – Arnold Vosloo  
Langston Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Hotel desk clerk – Jamie Kennedy  
Hotel concierge – Breckin Meyer

* * *

**1:32 P.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Easter Sunday, April 12th, 2009**

**Northridge Medical Center, Northridge, California**

"Push, Eleanor!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Ellie Woodcomb screamed at the doctor, startling everybody in the room. She had unexpectedly gone into labor three and a half hours earlier, right in the middle of Easter Sunday services. Fortunately, First Lutheran Church of Northridge is directly across the street from Northridge Medical Center.

"I thought you weren't due for another ten days, babe," Devon had remarked as they rapidly moved her across the street.

"Yeah, well, you're a doctor, you know how these things go," Ellie had replied sarcastically.

After arriving at the hospital, Ellie had banned all non-medical people from the room except for Devon and Chuck. Chuck was currently holding Ellie's hand, because Ellie had banished Devon to the corner with the threat of bare-handed castration should he ever come within impregnation distance of Ellie again.

"THIS THING'S HEAD IS THE SIZE OF A BOWLING BALL!" Ellie howled, the pain evident in her voice.

"Not my fault," Devon grumbled. "Everybody in my family was born with a small head."

Chuck turned to him. "Yeah, that would be the Bartowski side of things," he replied – and almost got his hand broken for it.

"What the hell was that for?" he gasped, turning back to his sister.

"That was because you're a fucking traitor," she moaned. "How dare you use logic and sensibility to explain a situation."

In spite of her pain, she managed to smile. "I can't believe Mom went through this twice," she said.

"Maybe that's why she ran off when we were in high school," Chuck deadpanned. "She couldn't stand our enormous noggins anymore."

"It's the size of Sputnik," Ellie whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. "GAH!"

"Head's out!" the doctor announced. "Just a couple more pushes, and you'll be home free, Ellie!"

And a moment later, the doctor was holding a tiny bundle of baby – a little boy, screaming at the injustice of being removed from his warm, comfortable habitat into the cold, sterile air of the hospital room. He clipped the umbilical cord, clamping it off, and handed the baby off to a nurse.

The nurse quickly wiped him off, and then handed him to Ellie. Tears and a smile simultaneously came to her face as she held her firstborn child.

Devon rose from his chair in the corner and came to stand next to her. "That's our son," he said quietly, a brilliant smile on his face. "Awesome."

"What's his name, ma'am?" one of the nurses asked.

"Reese Walker Woodcomb," Ellie replied, without hesitation.

Chuck's eyes went wide. He looked down at Ellie. "Is that –"

She nodded slowly. "We thought it would be appropriate," Devon said.

Chuck smiled sadly. "Thank you, guys."

* * *

**1:45 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Saturday, May 2nd, 2009**

**Santa Monica, California**

Veronica wasn't sure what woke her up – maybe a dog barking in the distance, maybe a truck driving by. Either way, her eyes cracked open. She felt cold for some reason. She rolled over to cuddle next to Chuck –

And encountered nothing but a cold expanse of empty bed. "Chuck?" she asked sleepily.

"I'm over here."

Veronica turned over. He was sitting in a chair in the corner of her bedroom, a dark silhouette against the white walls. "What's wrong?"

Chuck sighed. "I don't know," he replied. "I… I guess, I just feel like we're forcing it sometimes, you know?"

"No," Veronica replied. _Oh, please, don't let this be what I think it is_. "I really don't know."

"Well," Chuck said slowly, "I guess, maybe it's just me who's forcing it then. I mean, don't get me wrong. You're pretty much amazing. When I tell you I love you, I mean it – but I'm not sure if I mean it the way you want me to mean it. We were so great as friends, and I feel like we're beginning to lose that."

Tears sprang to Veronica's eyes. "But, no, no we're not!" she insisted. "Spending time with you is always fun. I always look forward to it –"

"And so do I," Chuck interrupted her. "But that's the thing. I want to spend time with you – as friends. I feel like I'm forcing the relationship part of it. And honestly, there's a reason for that."

Veronica closed her eyes and sighed. "You're not… you're not over Sarah yet."

In the darkness, she could see Chuck shake his head. "I'd be lying if I said I was," he replied quietly. "I thought I was, I really did. But so much of the time, when I close my eyes, I still see her. I find my thoughts drifting to her so much of the time."

He sighed. "It gets worse, though. Ever since Reese was born, I keep thinking about what it would be like to have kids – but I always end up seeing Sarah as their mother."

And that statement was one bridge too far. "No," Veronica whispered. "Please stop."

"I'm sorry," Chuck said quietly, and Veronica could tell from the sound of his voice that he really was. "I really, honestly never meant to hurt you. I only ever wanted to make you happy, and my own heart betrayed me."

She didn't say anything. The room was quiet for almost five minutes, save for the soft sound of Veronica crying. Finally, Chuck spoke. "Veronica, please say something."

She took a deep breath. "I think… I think that you should go home."

Chuck's heart was heavy as he stood. "Okay," he said quietly. "But Veronica… I want you to know, I do still lo-"

"Just stop!" she snapped. "Please, just go!"

Silently, Chuck stood. He walked out of the bedroom. Veronica heard the door open and shut behind him.

She turned over and buried her face in her pillow. It just wasn't fair.

* * *

**9:30 A.M.**

The knocking at Veronica's door woke her up. Sleepily, she pulled on her bathrobe, and made her way to the door.

She opened it, and there was Chuck Bartowski standing in front of her, two Starbucks cups in hand.

She took a deep breath. "You know," she said quietly, "it's not fair."

"What's that?" he asked.

"The fact that you look all clean and crisp and happy, and I probably look like a big bag of ass."

Chuck smiled. "Nah," he said. "You never look like a big anything."

She shook her head, smiled, and punched him in the arm. "Careful!" he protested. "I might drop this coffee I got for you."

Veronica rolled her eyes, reached out, and took one of the cups. "May I come in?" he asked, as she took a sip and continued to stand in the doorway.

"That depends," she replied. "Are you done stomping on my heart?"

With that remark, Chuck's face fell, and Veronica instantly regretted it. "Come on in," she said, stepping out of the doorway.

Chuck wandered into the kitchen and sat down on one of the stools by the counter. Veronica hopped up onto the other one, and turned to face him.

"So," he began, "about last night –"

"You mean, when you broke up with me in the middle of the night?"

Chuck paused, and then nodded. "Yeah," he said. "That would be the one."

He sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. I said some things that were, in retrospect, not the most intelligent things I could have said. Really, I'm one of those people who needs to never be allowed to talk between midnight and five in the morning."

Veronica smiled. "I understand," she said, but then her smile faded. "That doesn't change anything, though, does it?"

Chuck closed his eyes and shook his head. "I'm sorry," he practically whispered. "I just, I can't. And as clichéd as it may sound, it really isn't you, it's me. I'm a pretty screwed up guy."

"No, you're not," she replied. "You're a good guy who got dealt a shitty hand, and you've just had a tough time dealing with it."

He smiled. "Thank you for understanding."

"Hey," Veronica replied. "That's what friends are for. However…"

Chuck looked over the top of his coffee cup, mid-sip.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I might have to call Logan and have him kick your ass."

* * *

**11:00 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Wednesday, June 10th, 2009**

**The Avalon Bake Shop**

**Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California**

It had become a weekly ritual for Beth Reynolds. Every Wednesday morning, she would go to the Avalon Bake Shop, get two of their unbelievable cream cheese danishes, a cup of coffee, and sit at a table with her MacBook, dispensing free computer advice for all those who would come.

It was slow right now. The locals always came by before 10:00, and the tourists generally didn't start coming by until after noon. As she was mindlessly playing Snood, however, she noticed something a little out of the ordinary.

Two men in black business suits and sunglasses walked up to a Latino man in a lightweight tan suit and a Panama hat. They exchanged pleasantries, but were too far away for Beth to hear.

Then, as the Latino man was sitting down, he turned around – and Beth's eyes went wide as she recognized him.

It was Geraldo Cardoso da Silva. Former President of Brazil, he had been deposed in early 2006, following a series of unfortunate events in his country.

Those events had been perpetrated by a team led by Sarah Walker. In the end, she had paid a personal late-night visit to da Silva, and told him that he would either step down or he would become a corpse.

"Well, well, General da Silva, we meet again," Beth mused to herself.. "What in heaven's name are you doing here?"

As discreetly as she possibly could, she plugged her cell phone into her laptop with a mini USB cable, and then set it on its edge, resting against the computer, so that its camera was pointed at the three men. She then brought up the phone utilities program and opened the camera viewer.

She used the viewer to zoom in on each of the men, capturing still shots of their faces. "Who are you?" she asked.

Logging into her e-mail account, she uploaded the pictures, and sent them to Director Graham. Unplugging the phone, she called him.

"Graham, secure."

"This is Reynolds, secure," she said as quietly as she could. "I just sent you some pictures of two men who I just spotted meeting with former Brazilian President Geraldo Cardoso da Silva."

Graham was quiet for a moment. "Okay, I've got them," he said. "We'll plug these into the Intersect. I'll give you a call back as soon as I know something."

Beth felt a thrill of excitement as she hung up the phone. She was going to be working with Chuck again, albeit in a very roundabout fashion.

* * *

**Burbank**

Chuck knew something was up when Veronica came running into the store. She jerked her head toward the home theatre lounge, and then grabbed Casey, dragging him toward it.

As soon as Chuck was inside the lounge, Casey locked the doors and dragged the curtains shut. "We've got an emergency brief with Director Graham," Veronica told them both.

"Sorry to drag you all away from work," Graham told them, "but we just got photos from an agent-in-place of two men meeting with the former President of Brazil."

Casey went stiff when he heard that last part. "Yes, the same man your mission deposed, Major Casey," Graham said. "I'll transmit the photos now. I want to see if the Intersect flashes on anything."

The photos appeared on the screen, and Chuck did indeed flash. His eyes rolled back in his head, and the images shot past his eyes.

"Bradley White and Vincent Torvalds," he gasped when he came out of the flash. "Both Fulcrum agents, both very, very bad men."

"Thank you, Mr. Bartowski," Graham said. "That's exactly what I needed to know."

And the transmission was cut off.

* * *

**Avalon**

Beth's phone rang. The number was in the 757 area code. "Reynolds, secure," she said, answering the phone.

"This is Graham, secure," she heard. "Those two men are Bradley White and Vincent Torvalds. They are both Fulcrum. Eliminate them both immediately."

Beth smiled. "Copy that, sir."

The two Fulcrum men stayed for about twenty more minutes, speaking with da Silva. Then da Silva left. Beth waited until the two Fulcrum men departed, and she followed them at a fairly discreet distance.

She followed them back to the Villa Portofino Hotel. She lost them, though, when she entered the lobby. "Shit," she whispered, reaching into her pocket and withdrawing her American Express card.

"Excuse me," she said, walking up to the front desk, plastering a smile on her face. "Did you see two men just walk through here in black suits?"

"Uh, yeah," the front desk clerk responded.

"Oh, good!" Beth replied. She waved the AMEX Black card in the air, immediately getting the clerk's attention. "One of them dropped this, and I just wanted to make sure he got it back. Did you see which way they went?"

"Uh, yeah, they're staying in one of the courtyard rooms," the clerk replied, pointing the way.

"Thanks!"

Beth Reynolds exited to the courtyard, just in time to see the two men walking into a room. "Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy," she whispered.

Going back into the hotel building, she found a ladies' restroom. Locking herself in a stall, she withdrew a Walther P9 and a silencer from her backpack. She mated the silencer to the barrel of the P9, and then stuffed it into the waistband of her running shorts. She then fluffed her t-shirt out over it to hide the bulge.

Beth went back out to the courtyard, putting on her sunglasses, and went to the room the men had gone into. She knocked. "Housekeeping?"

She reached under her shirt as she heard the door unlock. It opened to reveal Vincent Torvalds. "Not right now –"

The gun came out, and before he could even react, he was falling to the floor – dead, a bullet through his forehead. Beth stepped into the room. Bradley White was sitting on one of the beds. "No –"

As his hands came up, the silenced Walther coughed again. White slumped over, dead.

Moving quickly, Beth dragged Torvalds to the other bed. She removed their wallets, tossing them in her backpack. Then she grabbed the "Do Not Disturb" sign, and hung it on the door as she was leaving.

As she jogged back to the Avalon Hotel, she sent Graham a simple text message – "Done". When she walked into the lobby, she went directly to the concierge – the same one who had been on duty the day she arrived – and handed him a one hundred dollar bill. "I need you to get me a professional quality blonde hair dye kit," she instructed him.

"Yes, ma'am."

When Beth returned to her room, she called Graham. "Graham, secure."

"This is Reynolds, secure."

"Good work. That was quick."

"Yes, sir. I'm going to have to change my appearance, and I may have to depart Catalina."

"Understood. What are your intentions?"

"I want to go back to field work, sir," Beth said. "I had forgotten… well, I don't want to say it's fun and exciting, but you understand, sir."

"I absolutely do," Graham replied, and she could almost hear him smile. "Here's the deal. There was a little kerfluffle up in Utah. Apparently, a Marine Corps Reservist by the name of Mitch Tucker got sick and tired of drugs being distributed out of Moab and went on a killing rampage, taking down an entire drug network. A Los Angeles gang kingpin by the name of Alberto Calijo was up there checking out operations, and he got caught in the crossfire.

"His funeral is on Saturday, in Los Angeles. His brother Maximillian is apparently a Fulcrum bigshot. I need you to get in there and find out whatever you can."

Beth smiled. "Yes, sir."


	12. Awakening

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 12: Awakening**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Elizabeth Reynolds – Yvonne Strahovski  
Beverly Center guest services rep – Frankie Muniz  
Maximillian Calijo – Andy Garcia  
Langston Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
LACMTA bus driver – Brad Dourif  
Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb – Sarah Lancaster

* * *

**10:30 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Saturday, June 13th, 2009**

**The Sofitel Los Angeles**

**8555 Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles, California**

Beth Reynolds looked at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She didn't look like Elizabeth Lisa Reynolds anymore. She looked…

She looked like Sarah Walker.

It had been a while since she'd gotten her hair cut, and it had grown down to shoulder length. Certainly nowhere near the middle of her back, like it had been before, but still, definitely longer. Add to that the fact that she had dyed it back to platinum blonde before she left Catalina Island – it made an incredible difference.

The green contacts safely resided in a contact lens case. Her eyes were back to being the ice blue that she had been born with.

An NSA intercept of a phone call that Maximillian Calijo had made revealed that he would be at the Beverly Center that morning – right across the street from the Sofitel. He was there to meet with a business associate. It was Beth's job to tail him, follow him to the funeral, then to the graveside service.

Director Graham had informed her that, amazingly, the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department suspected a drifter of murdering the two Fulcrum men. Nobody – not one of the interviewees – had said a word about a woman with short red hair and green eyes.

_That desk clerk must've been stoned_, Beth thought.

Beth headed out of the hotel just after 10:30. She crossed Beverly Boulevard at the stoplight at La Cienega, and headed into the Macy's Men's store on the ground floor of the Beverly Center. Elevators at the center of the store took her up to the sixth floor.

She had at first been wary about coming to the Beverly Center on a Saturday morning. After all, who knew who might show up that knew her?

Director Graham had allayed her fears, though. Ellie had to work that morning. Devon was taking a trip to San Diego to visit his parents so that they could meet their new grandson. Morgan had to be at the Buy More, and Chuck, Casey, and Agent Mars had been sent on a wild goose chase to Palm Springs that Graham assured her would keep them there until at least 2:00 P.M.

When she reached the sixth floor, she turned right, and crossed the mall's grand court to the Guest Services booth. "Excuse me," she said, approaching the booth.

The young man behind the booth looked tired and bored, but he jumped up as she approached. "Good morning," he said. "How can I help you?"

"I'm looking for my boss," Beth said, pulling out a picture of Maximillian Calijo. "I'm supposed to meet him here, but I have forgotten where. Have you seen him?"

"Yeah, actually," was the reply she got. "He was just here a moment ago, asking where Starbucks was."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, if you go up these escalators right behind me, and then the next set, up to the eighth floor, and then turn right, you'll see it."

"Thanks!" Beth flashed a smile at him, and the young man blushed. _Impressionable twenty year-olds_, she thought, mentally laughing.

She took the escalators up to the eighth floor, as instructed, and turned right. Yes, indeed, there was Starbucks, and yep, there was Max Calijo, standing in line.

Beth ducked into Forever 21, and pretended to check out some clothes that she might actually consider buying were she there to shop. But she wasn't – she was there to keep an eye on Max Calijo.

A moment later, he walked past. She waited a moment, and then followed him. He headed across the food court – and then outside – onto the rooftop terrace.

_Dammit_, Beth thought. _How am I supposed to keep an eye on him out there without him noticing?_

Then she had an epiphany. Moving quickly, she went back to Starbucks, got herself a large plain coffee, added a little bit of cream and sugar to it, and then headed outside.

She walked right past Maximillian Calijo, and sat down at a table at the far end of the terrace, her back to him. Then, reaching into her bag, she withdrew her MacBook. Opening it up, she very carefully set it up so that the webcam at the top of the screen was pointed directly at Calijo.

The next hour was strictly vanilla. Not a single exciting thing happened. A few people came by, but as Beth listened in, it became pretty clear to her that Calijo was conducting interviews for a legislative internship.

She sighed. Well, this was a bust. Then, she looked closely at the screen –

Calijo had stood and was walking her direction. Beth quickly pulled up a Microsoft Word document before he could see the screen.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" he asked as he walked up behind her.

Beth turned around. "Can I help you?" she replied.

"Max Calijo, state Assembly from district 56," he said, extending his hand.

"Beth Reynolds," she replied, standing and shaking his hand.

"Listen, I hope this doesn't seem too forward, and let me assure you, I have no designs whatsoever, but are you busy this afternoon?"

Beth arched an eyebrow. "Uh, not particularly… may I ask why?"

Calijo sighed. "I need somebody to accompany me to my brother's funeral, to hopefully keep my mother off my back about 'when I'm going to meet the right girl' and all that bullshit."

He looked at her hopefully. "Would you be willing to help me out? There's five thousand dollars in it for you, and I promise you, I'll behave myself."

Beth's mind was spinning. Not in her wildest dreams could this have worked out more perfectly. "Sure," she replied. "Why not."

Calijo smiled. "Great," he said with a sigh of relief. "Where can I pick you up?"

"Oh, I'm actually staying at the Sofitel, right across the street," Beth answered.

Calijo nodded. "Alright, then. I'll pick you up out front at, say one o'clock?"

"I'll be there!"

Beth went back to the Sofitel. She immediately contacted Director Graham to tell him about this latest development.

"I swear to God, you jump into piles of shit and come out smelling like roses on a fairly regular basis," he said in disbelief. "Are you sure he doesn't suspect anything?"

"He's not that good an actor, sir," Beth replied. "He's been a regular on the morning shows for the last four months. I've had ample opportunity to observe him."

"Fair enough," Graham replied. "Just make sure you're armed."

"I always am, sir."

* * *

A black Lexus limo pulled up in the valet area at the Sofitel at 1:02 P.M. The valet opened the door for Beth. She handed him a five dollar bill.

"Well, Ms. Reynolds, you look appropriately somber," Calijo observed, amusement in his voice.

"I wear black a lot," Beth replied, truthfully. She looked down at her outfit. As a matter of fact, it was one of the black blouses and black skirts, along with the black heels, that she'd had the Avalon Hotel concierge get for her the day she took the plunge off the bridge.

It was a long drive. The limo headed south on La Cienega Boulevard to the Santa Monica Freeway. Ten miles east on the Santa Monica Freeway to the Santa Ana Freeway, and another eleven miles south to Pioneer Boulevard.

"This neighborhood's in a lot better shape than I would've figured," Beth observed, trying to make small talk.

"Believe it or not, it's the Firestone Boulevard Slayers," Calijo replied. "I know, they're a gang, they get a lot of bad press, but they at least keep the neighborhood clean. If my dumbass brother hadn't decided to get them into drugs, they could've become legit."

Then he stopped and considered. "Of course, since he died on his initial drug acquisition trip, maybe they can stay off that path."

Beth just kept her mouth shut.

The funeral service started at 2:15. It was completely in Spanish. Beth was very careful to put a vacant look on her face, even though she understood every single word – and in fact, probably could have conducted the service herself.

Calijo very somberly placed a Mexican flag over his brother's coffin, and then later gave a eulogy. Beth noticed that he had a look just short of disgusted on his face the entire time. It was clear that he did not approve of the gang-leading life that his brother had conducted.

_So why, oh, why, would you get yourself involved with FULCRUM?!_ her mind screamed at him.

When the service ended, it was back to the limo, for what Beth was quite certain was going to be the funeral procession from HELL. The service was at St. John of God Church in Norwalk; the burial was to be at the Forest Lawn Memorial Cemetery on the other side of the Hollywood Hills.

At 4:30 P.M., the procession arrived at Forest Lawn. Beth accompanied Calijo to the gravesite, where the priest from St. John of God was going to give a final blessing.

As she sat there, she realized that the area she was in looked eerily familiar. She wasn't quite sure why – she'd only been to Forest Lawn once before – for Bryce's "funeral", back in October of 2007, and that had been in a totally different part of the cemetery.

Beth looked around the cemetery uneasily. What was it about this place?

And then, she saw a headstone. A headstone that she had seen a number of times before – but only on a computer monitor. Her eyes widened as she looked at the several bouquets of flowers set against it.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

Beth bent to pick up her purse. "Are you alright?" Calijo whispered.

"Yeah," she whispered back. "I just realized, though, a friend of mine's gravesite is here, and I really need to go visit it."

"Oh," he replied, confused. "Okay. Well, I tell you what, I think you've stayed by my side long enough. In case you don't come back…"

He reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. Reaching into it, he pulled out a check and handed it to her. "Here's my end of the bargain. Thanks for helping me keep _mi madre diabla_ off my back."

Beth smiled. "No problem at all," she replied.

As she snuck off, she realized – another stroke of good luck. She had a check with Calijo's bank account number on it in her hand. The CIA would probably be a fan of that.

However, all feelings of good fortune faded, the closer she got to the headstone. There was a certain feeling of trepidation she experienced as she approached what was, essentially, her own gravestone.

And finally, she reached it. The first time she'd seen it in person. The first time she'd ever actually been able to read what it said.

SARAH WALKER  
JUNE 14, 1982 –  
JANUARY 30, 2008  
LEADER  
LIFESAVER  
LOVING FRIEND

It felt a little weird, almost creepy, to be standing here at this headstone. She looked down at the bouquets. A bouquet of gerber daisies. A bouquet of carnations. A bouquet of a mixture of red, white, and blue dyed roses, held together with a little plastic clip shaped like a handgun.

Beth laughed softly. There was no question who that bouquet was from.

But then, there was the final bouquet. It was a mixture of pinkish-orange roses and sunflowers. If there had been no question that Casey had provided the red, white, and blue bouquet, there was absolutely not even a shadow of a doubt that the bouquet of sunset roses and sunflowers was from Chuck. Those were her favorite flowers, and though she had no idea how Chuck had done it, he had figured that out three weeks before the CIA had tried to extract him.

Her breath caught as she realized there was a card attached to it. She reached down and gently tugged the card off of the bouquet. She smiled as she realized it was a birthday card. Tomorrow was, in fact, Sarah Walker's birthday.

Beth opened the card – and was shocked to discover that Chuck had written a note inside.

_Dear Sarah_, it said. _I have no pretensions that you'll ever actually read this card, but it makes me feel better to think that somehow, some way, someday you might._

_It's been nearly a year and a half now – and yet, there are still days when I wake up and think that I'll see you. I don't know how you did it, but somehow, you got under my skin. You became part of me, and every day that I have to go without that part, my heart aches even worse._

_There have been so many people who have showed me how much they love and care about me since you left. Hell, I didn't even know two of them before it happened. But honest to God, I would give it all up just to have one more day with you._

_I miss you so much, and I love you. Happy birthday. – Chuck_

Beth put a hand to her mouth, and realized that her face was wet. She slowly wiped the tears from her eyes – and then she took the birthday card, and slid it into her purse. When her hand came back out of her purse, her cell phone was in it.

She opened it, and slowly dialed. A moment later, it was answered. "Graham, secure."

"This is Reynolds, secure. I can't do it anymore. I quit."

Graham was silent for a moment. "I was wondering when it would happen," he finally said. "When the motion detector was set off at the gravesite, and I saw that it was you there, I figured it was only a matter of time."

"So you understand, then?"

"I do," Graham replied quietly. "I don't know what you plan to do next –"

"Neither do I, sir."

"But if you end up being arrested for falsifying your own death – and you probably will be, if you do what I think you're going to do – I'll do everything in my power to protect you, and to get the charges dropped."

"Thank you, sir," Beth said. "But, what do you think I'm going to do?"

Graham laughed softly. "That's for you to figure out."

Beth hung up the phone and dropped it back into her purse. She started walking.

She walked out of the cemetery, up Forest Lawn Drive to Riverside Drive, and then over to Buena Vista Street. She waited for a few minutes, until an LA County Metro bus came along.

When the door opened, she asked the driver, "How would I get from here to Sunset and Glendale?"

"Well," the driver said, "you'd want to take this bus to Riverside and Glendale, and then the number 92 bus down to Glendale and Sunset."

He looked at her strangely. "But why would somebody dressed all fancy like you be ridin' the bus?"

Beth half-smiled. "I'm trying to get to Echo Park, to see my…"

She paused for a moment, and then a big smile crossed her face. "To see my old boyfriend. I haven't seen him in a year and a half."

The bus driver looked at her, then looked behind him. Making sure nobody was watching, he tore off a Metro Day Pass and handed it to her. "Don't tell nobody I did that," he instructed her. "It might only be a five dollar pass, but they'll fire my ass."

Beth smiled again. "Thank you."

Forty-five minutes later, the second bus dropped her off on the northwest corner of Glendale Boulevard and Sunset Boulevard. Beth crossed Glendale and headed east on Sunset – one block, two blocks, three blocks, four – and there she was, at Laveta Terrace.

Her stomach was doing backflips, the closer she got. She turned left and headed up Laveta. Her stomach practically tied itself in a knot as the apartment complex came into view.

She examined the parking area. No Chuck car. No Casey car. No Devon car. Ellie's car was there, but the apartment appeared to be dark. Maybe she was out?

As stealthily as she could, Beth snuck around the back of the apartment complex. She stood on her toes, and reached up, hoping that the catch to open the Morgan Door still worked –

And it did. The window swung silently open. Beth boosted herself up and over the window ledge –

Into a baby's nursery. Beth closed her eyes and breathed outwards. She had completely forgotten. Chuck lived in Santa Monica now.

But wait. This had to be the room where Ellie and Devon's baby was. Curiosity got the better of Beth. She crossed the dim room to the crib, and looked down.

Yep, there he was. Ellie and Devon's son. He was awake, and he looked up at her, his eyes wide open – but he didn't make a sound, almost as if he trusted her.

He had definitely gotten the Bartowski looks rather than the Woodcomb looks – his eyes were huge, and deep brown, just like his uncle's. He even had wispy curls of brown hair forming on his head.

Beth reached her hand down into the crib and touched his tiny hand – and he immediately wrapped it around her index finger, a shadow of a smile appearing on his face. A huge smile came to Beth's face without her even thinking about it.

"His name is Reese Walker Woodcomb."

Beth's head snapped up. Ellie was standing in the doorway. She hadn't heard her approach, hadn't even heard the door open, she had been so engrossed with the baby.

Ellie's face was carefully neutral, but Beth could see the anger, the unbridled hatred, in the older woman's eyes. "We gave him his middle name in memory of you," Ellie continued, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

Beth looked at Ellie. She didn't know what to say, what she could say, so finally, she just said, "Hi, Ellie…"

_**To be continued…**_


	13. This Is Home

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 13: This is Home**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Ellie Bartowski Woodcomb – Sarah Lancaster  
Elizabeth Reynolds/Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Devon Woodcomb – Ryan McPartlin  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Speedboat pilot – Fernando Colunga  
Hotel manager – Seth Green  
General Diane Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy

* * *

**Echo Park**

"His name is Reese Walker Woodcomb."

Beth's head snapped up. Ellie was standing in the doorway. She hadn't heard her approach, hadn't even heard the door open, she had been so engrossed with the baby.

Ellie's face was carefully neutral, but Beth could see the anger, the unbridled hatred, in the older woman's eyes. "We gave him his middle name in memory of you," Ellie continued, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

Beth looked at Ellie. She didn't know what to say, what she could say, so finally, she just said, "Hi, Ellie…"

Ellie looked daggers back at her. She took a step toward Beth, and Beth took a step backward.

Ellie's breathing got ragged. Her eyes narrowed, her face reddened. Her hands clenched to fists. "You… BITCH!" she snarled.

Her left hand moved faster than a snake, her open palm hitting Beth's face with all the force of a bus. The blow staggered Beth, and she stepped backward. She gasped in pain and tasted blood. Knocked off balance, she looked back at Ellie –

Just in time to be hit with Ellie's right fist. The blow knocked her off her feet. She fell backward, her head smacking against the baby's changing table as she fell.

Beth collapsed to the floor, stunned. She had almost double vision, and was unable to re-focus. Then she felt her hair being pulled. The pain was almost unbearable as Ellie dragged her into the living room by her hair.

"Ellie, please stop!" she moaned.

"Hey, babe, look what the cat dragged in!" Ellie shouted, rage coloring her voice.

That statement was enough to draw Devon from the kitchen. "Ellie, what's going – Sarah?!"

Devon physically dragged his wife off of Beth. "Jesus, Sarah, you look like you got your ass kicked!" Not, "Jesus, Sarah, you're supposed to be dead!"

He turned to Ellie. "What the hell did you do?!"

"I kicked her ass," Ellie hissed vindictively. "Any woman who fakes her own death and makes my little brother's life HELL for seventeen months is DEFINITELY gonna get a dose of Bartowski justice."

"Ellie, cool it," Devon said angrily. "I think you might've given her a concussion."

He gently lifted Beth under her arms and set her in an easy chair. "Follow my finger," he instructed her, moving his index finger back and forth in front of her face. She complied.

"Okay, that's good," Devon mused. He put his hand to her forehead, shading her eyes from the light, then removed it. He repeated, and then said, "Alright, pupil reaction time is good. Sarah, I need you to move your hands and feet for me."

"Okay," she said softly, and moved her hands and feet.

"Alright, motor function looks good," Devon said. "Okay, it looks like you were just stunned, but I don't want you to move."

"Yeah, I don't want you to move either," added Ellie nastily.

The Woodcombs disappeared into the kitchen. Beth could hear them arguing. It seemed that Ellie wanted to call the police, whereas Devon wanted to take her to the hospital.

She had no intention of allowing either to happen. Beth rose to her feet, taking a moment to find her balance. She unsteadily wobbled to the door and pulled it open –

And came face to face with the business end of her own gun. "Nice try, Walker," John Casey growled. "Sit DOWN."

Backing up slowly, she returned to the chair Devon had deposited her in. "Nice gun, by the way," Casey remarked. "Thanks for leaving it in the Porsche."

"Any time," Beth replied bitterly. "How'd you know I was here?"

Casey looked at her like she'd lost her mind. "What, you really think I'd remove the surveillance equipment from my godson's bedroom? Are you nuts?"

That remark took her breath away. "You're… Reese's godfather?" she whispered.

"They wanted somebody else to be his godmother – unfortunately, she was UNAVAILABLE," Casey rasped. "You've done one hell of a number on a group of very good people, Walker. I hope you're happy."

She shook her head. "No, I'm really not," she whispered softly.

"Boy, I can't wait to hear Bartowski rip into you," Casey growled, an unkind smile on his face.

Beth's eyes widened. "What?"

"Chuck. He and Veronica will be here in, oh, five minutes or so," Casey informed her. "Family dinner night."

She shook her head. "I… I can't. I can't be here when he gets here."

"Well, that's just tough shit!" Casey shouted. "You should've thought of that before you broke into the Woodcombs' apartment, or better yet, before you decided to do your pseudo-death plunge off of the Vincent Thomas Bridge!"

* * *

Veronica's DB-7 pulled up in front of the apartment complex just after seven o'clock. She hopped out like she was on fire.

"Chuck, I've really, REALLY got to use the bathroom," she said. "Can you grab the groceries?"

"Yeah, no problem," Chuck replied. As Veronica's door swung shut, he reached behind her seat and grabbed the two bags from Whole Foods.

He had just stood up out of the car and closed his door when he heard a commotion coming from inside the Woodcomb apartment.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked nobody in particular.

* * *

Veronica burst into the apartment. "Out of the way, I'm about to piss my-"

She stopped dead in the doorway. There was somebody sitting in the living room who should not have been there, surrounded by a very pissed off looking John Casey and Ellie Woodcomb and a disturbed looking Devon Woodcomb.

"Jesus Christ!" Veronica exclaimed, horrified. "You're dead! You're fucking dead! I've seen the death certificate, I've been to your gravesite!"

"Clearly, she's NOT," John Casey grumbled.

Veronica's eyes narrowed. She reached behind her back and drew her gun, aiming it at Beth Reynolds.

"Sarah Walker, you are under arrest for falsifying your own death. You have the right to remain silent…"

* * *

Chuck had begun walking quickly when he heard Veronica start yelling – and then he heard it.

He heard Veronica say the words "Sarah Walker."

Chuck felt like his heartrate had tripled in that one instant. His eyes went wide, and the two grocery bags went tumbling from his arms. He nearly tripped over his own feet as he started running across the remaining distance to the door.

He burst through the door into the living room –

And there she was. Her hair was a little shorter, but otherwise, she looked exactly like she had the last time he had seen her.

"Sarah?" he whispered, hoping against all hope that he was right.

She smiled as tears sprang to her eyes. "Hi, Chuck," she whispered.

He crossed the room toward her. "Is it… is it really you?"

Sarah Walker nodded silently as she stood to face him.

Chuck stopped right in front of her. "Um…"

He turned to his sister. "Guys, can we have a moment, please?"

Nobody moved. Casey and Veronica both still had their guns out. "Seriously, guys, how bad can a dead woman hurt me?" Chuck asked irritably.

With an unpleasant sigh, Casey holstered his gun and left through the front door. The other three followed suit, with Devon closing the door behind him.

Chuck looked back at Sarah, into her eyes. "Why?" he asked.

She bowed her head. "I couldn't let them use me to hurt you anymore," she whispered. "It's as simple as that."

Sarah looked back up at him. He nodded his head slightly. "I guess I can understand that," he replied.

He took a step back. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't mad," he told her. "I just, I can't believe you'd do that to me. I mean, I understand why, but you have to realize – that hurt me worse than I can say. And now that I know you faked it – I mean, that hurts me beyond all measure, that you couldn't just trust me."

The tears were coming to Sarah's eyes in full force now. "And it just makes me so angry, to think that you'd do that because you thought I couldn't handle being hurt," he said, and she could hear it in his voice. "I mean, words cannot describe how mad that makes me."

Then he stopped and took a breath. Sarah sniffled and wiped her eyes, and then looked down incredulously as Chuck took her hands in his own. "There's something else that words can't describe," he said softly, "and that's how happy I am to see you."

Sarah smiled, and a half-laugh, half-sob escaped her lips. Then, before she realized what she was doing, she had thrown her arms around Chuck's neck, locking her arms behind him as though she were never going to let go. She felt his arms wrap themselves around her torso, enfolding her in his embrace.

After a moment, he pulled back. "Listen," he said. "Um… the moment that Veronica and Casey come back through that door, they're gonna put you under arrest."

"I know," she whispered.

Chuck sighed. Sarah looked into his eyes – and she could tell that his mind was going a million miles an hour. "What exactly are you thinking about?" she asked.

He looked back and took a deep breath. "How much do you trust me?"

"Um… with my life, pretty much, at this point."

"Come with me," Chuck said. Confused, Sarah followed him back to his old room. He opened the Morgan Door. "Out," he ordered her.

"What?"

"Just do it."

Sarah climbed out, confused. Chuck followed her. "Alright, we have to stay quiet and unseen," he whispered. "Do you have a knife on you?"

Sarah turned to him with an "are-you-kidding" look on her face. "Of course you have a knife on you," Chuck said, rolling his eyes. "What was I thinking. Mind if I borrow it?"

Sarah smiled, dug into her purse, and came out with a switchblade. "Okay, follow me," Chuck instructed her. Sarah followed as close as she could get to him without tripping him.

When they reached the street, Sarah started to get nervous. "What are we doing?"

Chuck pointed a remote control at a blue Corvette and hit a button. The turn signals flashed, and it unlocked. "Get in," he instructed her.

Staying low, he ran along the line of cars. He popped open the switchblade, and quickly slashed the right front tire on Devon's Escape, Ellie's Pontiac, Casey's Crown Vic, and Veronica's Aston-Martin. He ran back to the Corvette and jumped in.

"When exactly did you get so devious?" Sarah asked with a smile.

"Oh, I've always had it in me," Chuck replied. "It's just that a certain… a certain spy brought it out in me."

He fired up the Corvette, backed out, and hit the gas.

* * *

Casey turned around to see Chuck's Corvette blast down Laveta Terrace, a gigantic cloud of smoke puffing up behind his rear tires. "Son of a bitch!" Casey shouted. He took off running for his car.

A moment later, he reappeared in the courtyard, a rueful grin on his face. "Well, somebody slashed the right front tire of all four of our cars. Either Walker's got an agenda up her sleeve, or Chuck has turned into a very bad boy."

Veronica's face was alternating between fear and outrage. "How do we find out?"

Casey sighed. "Devon, I need you to do me a favor."

"What do you need, bro?"

Casey tossed the keys to the Crown Vic over. "Change the tire on the Crown Vic. It's got a full size spare, so we can go full speed on it. Veronica and I are going to go figure out what the hell happened."

Veronica followed Casey into his apartment. "What do you mean, we're going to figure out what the hell happened?"

Casey turned on the TV. He turned to the laptop next to it, and pulled up the apartment surveillance footage for the last ten minutes.

"Okay," he mused. "Here, we have Chuck chewing Sarah out briefly… and here, we have him hugging her… for freaking ever…"

"Oh, come on, Casey, he thought she was dead," Veronica said. "Give him a bit of a break."

Casey rolled his eyes and hit play, sending the playback to normal speed.

"_Listen. Um… the moment that Veronica and Casey come back through that door, they're gonna put you under arrest._"

"_I know._" There was silence for a moment as Sarah looked at Chuck. "_What exactly are you thinking about?_"

"_How much do you trust me?"_

"_Um… with my life, pretty much, at this point._"

"_Come with me._"

And with that, they disappeared into the baby's bedroom. "Goddamn devious little bastard," Casey said, laughing. "He's learned well."

* * *

**Santa Monica**

"Do you keep a bag packed?" Sarah asked Chuck as they sped down Santa Monica Boulevard.

"Always," Chuck replied. "A week's worth of clothes, toiletries, a thousand dollars cash and ten thousand dollars in untraceable traveler's cheques."

"What?!" Sarah said, incredulous. "That sounds like something that a spy would do."

Chuck sighed. "It always seemed ridiculous, but I harbored this fantasy since the day you disappeared that you would return, and you'd have to disappear. I wanted to go with you if that somehow happened."

He laughed. "And here I am, disappearing with you."

Sarah looked over at him. "Why do you want to do that?"

"Because I love you."

The answer took Sarah's breath away. It was something she'd been wanting to hear since long before she had jumped off the bridge. And she wanted so badly to say it back, but her mouth went completely dry.

She took a deep breath, and forced herself to speak. "I… I love you too."

Chuck's face lit up with an enormous smile as he turned into his apartment complex. "Okay, what are we doing?"

"We're grabbing your bag, first of all," Sarah responded. "Oh, and I want to make sure you're not keeping a woman stashed in your apartment."

"Are you kidding?" Chuck responded dryly. "I've had exactly one girlfriend in the last year and a half."

Sarah froze. When Chuck realized she wasn't behind him, he turned around. "What's wrong?"

"It was the FBI agent, wasn't it?"

Chuck looked away. "Yeah, yeah it was."

Sarah was quiet for a moment, and then she nodded. "Good," she finally said. "I saw surveillance footage of Casey, talking about how you were bottling up your feelings toward her. My worst fear was that you'd do to her… uh, what I did to you."

Chuck took a deep breath. "Okay," he replied. "Let me get my bag… we'll talk about this more once we're going wherever it is we're going."

He unlocked his apartment door and threw it open. He stepped inside and grabbed the bag. As he was stepping back out of the apartment, he realized that Sarah had snuck up behind him. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him to her.

The kiss reminded him a lot of the one at the San Pedro docks. They were in a lot of danger, there was a huge amount of passion involved, and he loved it.

This time, though, she didn't back away and call it awkward. She backed away, smiled, and said, "Let's go."

* * *

The Crown Vic sped down Santa Monica Boulevard. Devon and Ellie had stayed at the apartment complex, so it was Casey and Veronica in the Crown Vic.

Veronica snagged the police radio. "This is FBI Agent Veronica Mars," she said. "I need to put out an APB on a blue Chevrolet Corvette, California license plate one hotel tango november echo romeo delta."

Casey thought about it for a moment. "Since when does he have a vanity plate that says 'One Hot Nerd'?!"

"He got it about a week ago," Veronica replied.

Casey shook his head and rolled his eyes.

Five minutes later, the Crown Vic pulled into the parking lot of Chuck and Veronica's apartment complex at Lincoln and Santa Monica. "And… there's the Corvette," Casey said with a sigh.

Casey followed Veronica up to Chuck's apartment. "Give me a second, I'll pick the lock," Casey said.

Veronica laughed. "I've still got a key."

But there was nobody in the apartment. Nothing seemed to be out of place or missing.

"Where the hell could he have gone?" Casey asked, frustration in his voice.

"Well, he's not here… he didn't take the Corv-"

Veronica's eyes widened. "My LeBaron!"

"What?"

She was already out the door, running down the hall. "He has a key to my old Chrysler. I haven't driven it since I got the Ast- well, shit."

"He didn't take it, did he?" Casey asked with a smile.

Veronica sighed, and pointed over the railing. The LeBaron sat in its parking place – the front two tires both slashed.

"He's thorough," Casey admitted.

* * *

**Marina del Rey**

Chuck and Sarah got off the Santa Monica #3 bus at Fiji Way. "Okay, this way," Sarah instructed. She led the way down Fiji Way toward the marina.

"Here we go," she said, turning right and heading toward a boat slip.

"Evening, Señorita Reynolds," the man sitting by the boat said. "How much are you gonna pay me this time?"

"A thousand sound good?"

The captain nodded. "We'll take the speedboat," he told her.

Forty minutes later, the captain was dropping them off at the dock in Avalon. "Thank you, Roberto," Sarah yelled as the boat pulled away.

"Now what?" Chuck asked.

"Follow me," she said, grabbing his hand. She had a huge smile on her face.

"So this is Catalina," Chuck mused. "Always wanted to come here."

"And I always wanted to bring you here," Sarah replied.

A moment later, they were walking into the lobby of the Avalon Hotel. "Ah, Ms. Reynolds, welcome back," the front desk clerk said. "Will your friend be needing a key as well?"

"Uh, yes," Sarah replied.

"Very good," the clerk said. "And your name, sir?"

Chuck's eyes widened, and then he smiled. "Ethan Hunt."

Sarah shot him a sideways look and rolled her eyes. "And may I see your ID, Mr. Hunt?"

"Oh, for God's sake," Sarah grumbled. She reached into her pocket, withdrew a hundred dollar bill, and passed it to the clerk. "How many of those have I given you now?"

The clerk smiled. "Enough that I've been able to live quite comfortably this last year and a half."

* * *

**Burbank**

Casey and Veronica were in the home theatre lounge at the Buy More, waiting for General Beckman to come online. "This is gonna suck," Veronica said softly.

The Nerd Herd screensaver disappeared, and General Beckman appeared on the screen. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"We've got a huge problem," Veronica said.

Casey cleared his throat loudly. "I'll handle this," he hissed.

"Agent Sarah Walker showed up at the apartment of Devon and Eleanor Woodcomb this evening," Casey started.

"WHAT?!" Beckman practically shouted. "Agent Walker is DEAD!"

Casey shook his head. "No, no she isn't. She showed up at the apartment, and disappeared with Bartowski."

"She abducted the Intersect?!"

Casey shook his head again. "Not exactly. It was Bartowski's idea. She went along with him."

Beckman's eyes narrowed. "Well then. I'll be putting out a sanction on both of them."

Veronica's eyes widened. "Wait, no! You can't do that!"

"Excuse me, Agent Mars?"

"General Beckman, this does seem like a rather rash course of action," Casey said uneasily.

Beckman looked at Casey. "Alright, Major. I won't issue a sanction. Yet.

"You and Agent Mars have seventy-two hours to find them."


	14. Meant to Live

_**Chuck vs. the Beautiful Letdown**_

**Chapter 14: Meant to Live**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Langston Arthur Graham – Tony Todd  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Sarah Walker – Yvonne Strahovski  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Veronica Mars – Kristen Bell  
Bailiff – Keith David  
Judge Marcus T. Aldridge – Ian McShane  
D.A. McMahon – Zeljko Ivanek  
Logan Echolls – Jason Dohring  
General Diane Louisa Beckman – Bonita Fredericy

* * *

**12:30 A.M., Eastern Daylight Time**

**Tuesday, June 16th, 2009**

**Reagan National Airport, Washington, DC**

Langston A. Graham, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency, nervously walked through the parking garage at National Airport. He had done as instructed, and taken the Metro to get to the airport.

"Graham!" he heard whispered from behind a Suburban.

Graham's head whipped to the left. "Major Casey?"

"Get back here!"

Graham turned and snuck back behind the Suburban. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Has Beckman spoken to you about Sarah Walker in the last three days?"

Graham's breath caught in his throat. "No… Agent Walker's dead."

Casey slowly shook his head. "No she's not, Director, and I think you knew that. The big question, though, is why Beckman hasn't said anything to you."

Graham looked at Casey through narrowed eyes. "She did exactly what I thought she was going to do, didn't she?"

Casey cocked an eyebrow. "Are you telling me that you EXPECTED her to come find Chuck?"

"I did, indeed," Graham replied. "She found her gravesite, called me, and told me that she quit."

"Wonderful," Casey groaned. "But let's get back to the fact that Beckman hasn't said anything to you. Add that to the fact that Beckman strictly ordered me not to talk to you…"

He narrowed his eyes. "Something doesn't add up. Why wouldn't she try to contact you, especially since she told me that Agent Mars and I had seventy-two hours to find Bartowski and Walker before she put out a sanction?"

Graham's jaw dropped. "She's going to put out a SANCTION on them?!" He put his hands to his head. "Son of a BITCH," he snapped.

He turned back to Casey. "Alright, you can find her at the Avalon Hotel on Catalina Island, under the name Elizabeth Reynolds. Get those two into some sort of custody as quickly as you can before she has them killed."

* * *

**7:30 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Avalon, Santa Catalina Island, California**

There was a knocking on the door. "Too early," Sarah moaned.

"I'm going to have to answer the door," Chuck said. "That means you have to move."

"Goddammit," she muttered as she shifted her weight off of him. Chuck swung his legs off the bed and stood up.

"You appear to be naked, mister," Sarah said teasingly.

"As do you," Chuck replied. "You just have the advantage of a sheet."

Opening the closet, Chuck pulled out one of the hotel's bathrobes and wrapped it around himself. "Just a second!" he called as the knock sounded on the door again.

He crossed to the door, grabbed the knob, and pulled the door open. "What can I do for – oh, shit."

Veronica Mars and John Casey stood outside the door. Veronica sighed. "Charles Bartowski, you are under arrest for obstruction of justice," she said quietly. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, a public defender will be provided for you."

She brushed past him. "Don't try anything, Chuck," Casey admonished him. "Beckman's got a hard-on for seeing you and Walker both dead."

"What?!"

"I don't know why," Casey admitted. "I mean, I can understand why she wants Walker dead. As for you, though, I have no idea. Graham's looking into it."

Chuck could hear Veronica inside the suite. "Sarah Walker, you are under arrest for falsifying your death and for obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, a public defender will be provided for you."

Chuck sighed and headed back into the suite, Casey behind him. "Veronica, will you can the big bad FBI act? We're going to come with you."

"Chuck," Veronica said quietly, nearly in tears, "I'm a federal agent. You know that. I have to arrest both of you. The Los Angeles County Sheriff found out – I don't know how, but they found out, and they're pressing charges against both of you."

A United States Coast Guard cutter was sitting at the ferry dock. Veronica and Casey actually had Chuck and Sarah do the perp walk down to the dock. There was a rather large degree of following eyes and pointed fingers. Almost everybody in town recognized Sarah as "Beth Reynolds, the computer geek".

"This is going to fuel the town rumor mill for weeks," Sarah whispered to Chuck. "What did the computer chick do? Did she kill somebody? Steal a car? What DID she do?!"

Chuck shook his head and rolled his eyes as they boarded the cutter. "I'm more concerned with the fact that two people who I thought were my friends just walked in on us naked and arrested us."

He said it loud enough for both Veronica and Casey to hear. Casey turned around, anger written all over his face. He pointed a finger at Chuck and said, "I TOLD you, Beckman wants you both dead. What part of that is so hard for you to understand? We're putting you in custody so you don't get KILLED!"

Veronica, meanwhile, started storming toward the front of the cutter, her eyes filling with tears. There was no WAY she was going to let this happen.

She pulled out her cell phone. One ring, two rings, three rings. Finally, it was answered.

"Hey, I need a favor. Oh, definitely. It's gonna be big."

* * *

**10:00 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Wednesday, July 1st, 2009**

**Balboa County Courthouse**

**Neptune, California**

"ALL RISE!"

Everybody in the courtroom rose to their feet, Chuck and Sarah included. The fact that they were in this courthouse was just a bizarre turn of events.

Somehow, word had leaked to the press that the Vincent Thomas Bridge Jumper had survived, and that she was being brought back to Los Angeles with her secret boyfriend. A bastardized version of the story got out, and when the cutter tied up in Long Beach, a rather sizable group of protesters had formed at the docks.

It turned out there was actually a large degree of SYMPATHY for Sarah. The protesters held signs saying things like, "Let love free," and "Leap for love." It was when about a dozen of them broke into singing the Who's "Love, Reign O'er Me," that Chuck turned to Sarah and said, "I believe I've died and gone to tabloid hell."

"Could be worse," Sarah replied.

"It could," Chuck admitted. "But since I finally got you to admit that you love me… and then do unspeakable things to me for two solid days… it's not gonna be worse."

She bit off a smile. "Shut up, or you're gonna pay."

"Ooh, I wouldn't mind paying."

Bail had been set at five hundred thousand dollars for each of them. It had been mysteriously ponied up, although they did both have to surrender their passports.

Chuck and Sarah were both fitted with ankle bracelets to keep them from fleeing to Mexico – or really, from leaving the greater Los Angeles area. Since Sarah didn't actually have a residence in Los Angeles, her residence was defined as Chuck's apartment.

Chuck had no complaints about that.

On June 20th, a group of legal advocates had gone on KTLA and informed the city that there was no possible way Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker could get a fair trial in Los Angeles County. They insisted on a change of venue to a neutral site.

Within ten minutes, the Los Angeles County Sheriff found that he had Balboa County Supervisor Logan Echolls on the phone, offering the Balboa County Courthouse as a trial site, and also saying he needed to speak with him on other business.

On June 23rd, the Balboa County Courthouse was officially confirmed as the venue for the trial of Chuck Bartowski and Sarah Walker. The papers tried to dub it the "trial of the century", but then were reminded that a handful of those had already happened at the Balboa County Courthouse in the last decade alone.

And so, on July 1st, Sarah and Chuck found themselves standing trial in the Balboa County Courthouse. This was going to be interesting.

"Balboa County Court now in session, the Honorable Marcus T. Aldridge presiding."

"Be seated," Judge Aldridge rumbled. "Except for the two of you."

His fingers pointed at Chuck and Sarah. "I am not pleased to be here on a Wednesday morning," he growled. "I usually golf on Wednesdays."

"I'm very sorry that justice took away from your golfing time, your Honor," Chuck said, sounding completely serious.

Nervous giggles ran through the packed courtroom. The judge looked at Chuck. "Watch yourself, Mr. Bartowski."

He picked up the paperwork in front of him. "Mr. Bartowski, you have been charged with obstruction of justice in an investigation by the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department. How do you plead?"

"I plead not guilty, your Honor."

Judge Aldridge rolled his eyes. "And Ms. Walker, you have been charged with obstruction of justice in an investigation by the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department, in addition to a charge of falsifying your death. How do you plead?"

"I plead not guilty, your Honor."

The judge looked taken aback. "You sure about that, Ms. Walker? The entire world watched you take that plunge off the Vincent Thomas Bridge, and yet you're pleading not guilty."

"Yes, sir. That is my plea."

"Okaaaay. Prosecution – it's your ball game."

The district attorney stood up. "The prosecution calls John Casey."

Casey stood up, and walked down to the witness stand. He stepped into the box, and the bailiff stepped forward with a Bible. "Mr. Casey, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"It's Major Casey," he said, "and no."

Judge Aldridge looked down at him in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry, your Honor," Casey replied, "but my current assignment as a federal agent precludes me from testifying in this case as it relates to a national security matter. Unless every single person in this courtroom, including you, and the jury, holds a top secret clearance, then I cannot say anything."

"Lovely," the judge said. "You're dismissed."

"What?!" The D.A. looked pissed.

"Federal law," Judge Aldridge said. "Ain't a damn thing I can do about it."

The D.A. looked at him in disbelief for a moment. "Fine," he hissed. "The prosecution calls Veronica Mars."

Veronica started to stand up. "Oh, Christ," Judge Aldridge said. "I prayed to God that your face would never grace Balboa County justice again."

"Feeling's mutual," Veronica replied with a smile as she began to head toward the witness box. Aldridge held up a hand.

"Wait. You're just gonna get up there and say the same thing Major Casey just said, aren't you?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "I'm afraid so, your Honor."

"Go back to your seat," the judge said tiredly.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" the D.A. exploded.

"You had best WATCH yourself, Mr. McMahon! I will find you in contempt so quickly your that you'll be in jail before your brain registers!"

The D.A. stewed, but held his tongue. At that moment, the back door of the courtroom burst open. A teenager in a suit came running down the aisle and handed a note to the D.A.

The D.A. read over the note, and as he read it, Chuck swore that steam was going to start coming out of his ears.

"Your Honor," he said through gritted teeth, "it seems that all of the evidence we have related to both of these cases, every last shred of it, has somehow disappeared."

Marcus Aldridge looked at D.A. McMahon in disbelief. "So, what you're telling me is that your two star federal agent witnesses can't testify, and that all your evidence is gone."

"Yes…"

"Do you have anything?"

"Noooo…"

"What a goddamn waste of my time," Aldridge grumbled. "I'm gonna go play some golf. All charges are dismissed."

"ALL RISE!" the bailiff shouted hastily as Aldridge rose and swept out of the courtroom.

Chuck turned and looked at Sarah. "What the hell just happened?"

She smiled. "It seems, babe, that we got off scott-free!"

Chuck was still in shock. "So what do we do now?"

"I vote we go back to your place and do unspeakable things to each other."

Chuck grinned. "I like that idea."

* * *

Veronica watched as Sarah and Chuck swept out of the courtroom, hand in hand, faces full of happiness. "Wow, they look happy, don't they?" said a voice behind her.

She turned to see Logan Echolls leaning against the wall. "What a shock to see you here," she deadpanned. "So, how much did it cost you?"

"You take into account the media, the protesters, the professional choir to sing the Who song, their bail, the legal advocacy group on KTLA, the Balboa County Court, and the LA County Sheriff's Deputies who, um, 'disappeared' the evidence, it cost about five million total."

Veronica's jaw dropped. "Five MILLION?"

"Shhhh!" Logan mock-admonished her. "I wouldn't want for there to be thoughts of corruption in Balboa County, God forbid!"

She laughed and shook her head. "Why, Logan?"

He made a grand sweeping gesture with his hands. "Because, THEY share an epic love... continents crossed... blood spilled..."

"Oh, Jesus," Veronica groaned, rolling her eyes. "Don't start that crap again."

* * *

**8:30 A.M., Eastern Daylight Time**

**Thursday, July 2nd, 2009**

**CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia**

"Director Graham, General Beckman is here to see you."

Graham leaned forward and pressed the button on the intercom. "Send her in."

The door opened, and the director of the National Security Agency walked in. "Good morning, Arthur," she said.

"Good morning, Louisa. You see the verdict?"

Beckman rolled her eyes. "The evidence went 'missing' my ass. Logan Echolls paid the Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department to make it disappear."

Graham shrugged. "Either way. I'd rather have them free than behind bars."

"Freedom?" Beckman snorted. "That's hilarious, Arthur. Walker's going to the Supermax in Colorado, and Bartowski's going to the secure facility in Utah."

Graham laughed and leaned forward. "No, LOUISA, I'm afraid they're not."

"Excuse me?" Beckman replied. "I'm pretty sure that CIA stopped calling the shots when Agent Walker did her Evil Knievel act."

Graham nodded and squinted his eyes. "Be that as it may, Fulcrum has NEVER gotten to call the shots."

Beckman looked at him, a look of alarm on her face. "What?"

Graham smiled, and then reached into a desk drawer. "It's interesting, what I have here," he said. "You might remember that a few weeks ago, the Intersect identified two Fulcrum agents."

"Of course."

"Turns out they were on Catalina Island, which is where Agent Walker just happened to be at the time. I had her eliminate them. But then, when the CIA cleanup crew went in, they found something funny."

He pulled his hand out of the drawer, a piece of heavy stock linen paper in his hand. "I have here a letter, addressed to one Geraldo Cardoso da Silva. Happens to be the former President of Brazil. It says here that he'll be restored to power in Brazil if he provides Fulcrum with military assistance once he's back in power."

He smiled like the Cheshire Cat. "The interesting thing is that it appears to be signed by one General D. Louisa Beckman."

Beckman's face turned into stone. "You can't prove anything, Arthur."

"I don't need to, Louisa," he said softly. Graham reached out and pushed the button on the intercom. "Gentlemen?"

The door opened, and two men wearing black suits, and oddly enough, blue latex gloves stepped into the office. "Gentlemen, would you please show General Beckman to her… new quarters?"

Each of the men wrapped their hands around one of Beckman's arms and jerked her upwards. "You can't do this, Arthur!" she screamed.

"Oh, I believe I can."

* * *

**9:30 A.M., Pacific Daylight Time**

**Saturday, July 4th, 2009**

**The Pacific Coast Highway, north of Santa Barbara, California**

Sarah and Chuck were in the Porsche. She had taken it to the dealership the day before and had everything changed out and brought up to standards. Now, the four year-old 911 was purring like it was fresh off the showroom floor.

They had decided to get out of Los Angeles for a while. Chuck had suggested driving up the Pacific Coast Highway all the way to Vancouver. Sarah had thought that was an excellent idea.

And so, they had set off from Chuck's Santa Monica apartment at 6:00 that morning. Their goal was to be in Carmel by 2:00 P.M.

"So, what do you want to do on this trip?" Sarah asked as they were leaving Santa Barbara.

"I want us to just have fun," Chuck said with a smile. "Although, I was thinking that we could always take an alternate route on the way back, go through Vegas… maybe get drunk and hit up one of those twenty-four hour wedding chapels…"

Sarah's eyes went wide. She slammed on the clutch and the brakes simultaneously. "What?!"

"I was joking, Sarah," Chuck laughed.

"Oh," she said, a little embarrassed. She put the Porsche into gear and started driving again. "Well, if you hadn't been joking, I would've insisted on a real wedding. None of that wedding chapel business."

Chuck's eyes widened. "WHAT?!"

He expected her to react like he had, and call it a joke and laugh it off. But that didn't happen.

His jaw dropped. "You're serious, aren't you?"

Sarah smiled and focused on the road. "Chuck, I risked federal charges and getting killed to come back to you. What do you think?"

Chuck blew out his breath. "Ummm… wow. So, uh, what do you think?"

She slammed on the brakes again, bringing the Porsche to a stop. "Uh-uh," she said, a mock serious look on her face. "You're gonna do it right. And not on the side of the Pacific Coast Highway, either. I want it to be on the beach, under the moon, a nice ring with a big rock."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "Yes, ma'am. Whatever you want."

Sarah grinned from ear to ear. "And don't you forget it."


End file.
